


For the Sake of Grades

by RarePairFairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6 Never Happened, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fail!sex, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mentor Snape, Narcissa is a Good Mum, Protective Ginny, Redeemed Draco, Ron Being a Jerk, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, foodplay, non-con situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 49,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RarePairFairy/pseuds/RarePairFairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy didn't find it difficult to serve Voldemort. He found it impossible. Which is why, upon being ordered to kill Dumbledore, he defected to the side of good and sent his own father to prison. Students on both sides of the conflict have problems with him, and he finds himself beset on all sides by hatred and distrust.</p><p>Harry doesn't know how to feel about any of it, but someone's going to have to take Malfoy's side in all this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set midway through sixth year. Instead of following through with his task, Draco has gone to Dumbledore and confessed, and the planned attack on Hogwarts goes arse-up before it even begins. Plenty of details have been left out – focus is on the development of the relationship between Harry and Draco. Snape is still potions teacher. Pretend Slughorn doesn’t exist. Likewise, the Unbreakable Vow scene didn’t happen because Snape does not have to kill Dumbledore in Malfoy’s place.
> 
> NOTE NOTE NOTE This story is almost 5 years old. This first chapter was written in 2009, and I abandoned the story for a few months before picking it back up in 2010. It was posted originally on FF.net. It is the most popular story I have ever written and posted online. Ever. So i've decided to go back and edit the fuck out of it, fix problems that 19-year-old me had with grammar and syntax, and see whether the AO3 crowd likes it as much as the FF.net crowd did.

‘Put it whatever way you want,’ Harry grumbled, tugging his school tie as they walked along the corridor, purely to keep his hands busy. ‘I’m not apologizing.’

‘Yeah,’ Ron interjected supportively. ‘After all, it’s Malfoy. When has he ever apologized for all the stuff he’s done?’

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her hair out of her face as they stopped outside the classroom, earlier than the other students, to wait for McGonagall. ‘So let me get this straight. Your main argument is that if Draco Malfoy does it, it’s okay?’

‘No,’ Ron refuted quickly, ‘I just don’t think he deserves an apology.’ Harry left the argument to Ron and Hermione, getting out the first book he touched from his bag and pretending to busy himself with it. The effect wasn’t very successful. It was a Herbology textbook, and he wasn’t Neville.

Yes, he had to admit, Malfoy had been less of a pain in the arse since he surrendered his personal involvement with the Death Eaters, not to mention given the names of several and aided in the imprisonment of others, a contribution which had crippled a planned attack on Hogwarts and left students to spend (at least their sixth) year in peace. As a result, Draco had earned defamation within his own house and borne it, thus far, with dignity. He was no less cold, but had yet to return to his old hateful ways, however Harry and Ron were counting the days and were nowhere near convinced that their long-standing enemy had turned over a new leaf.

Harry had gotten into a brief fight with Malfoy just the other day and shouted him down, admittedly using personal information that was known to give Malfoy shudders. Maybe he went so far because Malfoy’s change had not been driven by a conscience, and everyone knew it. It had been driven by fear. It had been made public that Lucius Malfoy had forced his son to join the Death Eaters. Draco, seeking a way to please his father, had complied until one day, he was asked to kill Dumbledore and deliver Harry to Voldemort. This had been too much for him, and he had gone to his assigned target, the Headmaster, with all the information he had.

The argument had begun with snide comments which were, to be fair, low-key by Malfoy’s original standards. Harry, having had a dreadful day, his patience already long gone, had flared up. Malfoy made it evident that he expected some respect for what he had gone through, but Harry would have none of it and said some things which he slightly regretted even as Malfoy was walking away. He remembered the expression on his rival’s face as he was pressing how much of a lapdog he had been. It wasn’t one Harry was familiar with. It looked blank for a while, until he realized that it was shock. It was clear that Malfoy didn’t want Harry to be saying what he was saying. He had sort of enjoyed watching Malfoy’s facade crumble, glimpsing a brief shine in those grey-blue, cloudy eyes before they blinked and he turned away, not waiting for Harry to finish his sentence. _That’s right. Run. It’s what you’ve always done. It’s the only thing you’re good at. Just run away._

‘You can’t expect him to become a completely different person in the space of a couple of weeks, Ron,’ Hermione chided loudly, bringing Harry out of his reverie. ‘Of course he’s still going to be a bit rude, but even you have to admit that he’s not nearly as awful as he used to be.’

Ron snorted, but said no more, except for “speak of the devil” as Malfoy rounded the corner, steering physically clear of the other Slytherins who were arriving about the same time as him. They shot him dirty looks as they passed, but he strode on with his nose in the air, showing no other signs of having noticed them. He didn’t send Harry or his friends the vaguest of glances.

Three by three or more, the rest of the students arrived, and McGonagall with the last of them. There were fewer tables than usual, thanks to other classrooms being in need of spares, so all seats were quickly filled. The only other bearable students had picked chairs unfortunately close to the Slytherins and Harry, Ron and Hermione were left with one empty space. Parvati looked up hopefully from where she was trapped, but just as Harry was about to beckon her over, the hope on her face dimmed. Harry looked up to see Malfoy casting one last look at a full back table before glancing down at the vacant spot to Harry’s right.

Ron moodily allowed Harry to shift over as Malfoy dropped himself into the seat. The air was tangibly charged with discomfort. The lesson began and Harry and Hermione tried to avoid the fleeting sneers and glares Ron and Malfoy were shooting each other. Harry got a strong sense of being bluntly ignored. It made him feel strangely left out.

McGonagall placed four jars with a live fairy inside each one on the corner of each table. Being on the end, the unwelcome guest of the group was left with the option of either passing them along or leaving everyone to lean awkwardly over the table. This was a silent test. Harry swore he saw McGonagall watching them out of the corner of her eye. The Head of Gryffindor house had undeniably taken an interest, as had everyone else, in Malfoy’s change of heart.

Hermione, fortified by her argument with Ron and firm in her belief that she wasn’t going to be called names by the new-and-improved Slytherin, boldly piped up;

‘Malfoy, could you pass down the jars?’

Ron was already fingering the handle of his wand. Malfoy looked at Hermione. Then at the jars. Then, to Harry’s surprise (and what looked like Ron’s disappointment), he skidded two jars across the surface of the table in their direction. The other two were close enough where they were, so Harry reached over to take his, his wrist momentarily brushing Malfoy’s chest. He felt muscle tighten and had to stop himself from looking at the face belonging to the body. Their fingers almost touched as Malfoy went for his own jar and Harry could see the pale, slender hand trembling before it vanished back inside the sleeve, only the fingers allowed to show.

McGonagall attempted to teach the class how to transfigure the live fairies into small pictures of themselves. Hermione cinched it early in the half-hour. Ron’s became a glittery, winged card with a scowling face, which was at least better than he’d hoped for. Harry’s did nothing, then unexpectedly exploded to twice its original size. Malfoy smirked, but stayed silent.

‘Go on then,’ Harry grumbled. ‘Let’s see you try.’

Malfoy didn’t do much better, but at least it was interesting for the rest of the class seeing them try to outdo each other.

Due to their competition, both boys turned out putting in more effort and doing well. Harry managed to get the size and shape right, though the picture was not of the fairy but of a cow. Malfoy managed to get his near perfect, except for the fingers and toes sticking out of the corners.

By the time the class ended, McGonagall had it in her head that the best way to keep them progressing at that rate was to seat them together every single class until the holidays. _Every._ Single. Class.

Which she did.

It was constantly tense, but Harry had to secretly admit to himself that his performance in class was improving out of sheer competitiveness. It appeared to be doing Malfoy some good, too. Where he had failed almost every Transfiguration class before, his desire to show up Harry was driving Malfoy to do some real work. It made Harry almost proud to know that even though the asshole had no desire to look smart or know anything of real use, he felt an inexplicable need to surpass his traditional rival.

‘Maybe he’s trying to impress you,’ Ginny speculated one day, as Ron napped on an armchair and Harry did his homework. ‘What makes you think that?’ Harry asked, looking up suddenly, mind drawn rapidly away from Potions at the mention of Malfoy’s name.

‘Well, he doesn’t seem to hate you anymore,’ Ginny went on. ‘He sort of looks annoyed when he hears people bagging you out. He jinxed Zabini under the table the other day for impersonating Hermione.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Harry said bluntly, going back to his homework. Hermione looked up from her chair.

‘He has been scarily polite to me lately,’ she said. ‘He even said “please” when he asked me to lend him a valerian root. He did look a bit uncomfortable, mind you,’ she added.

‘He’s different now he knows his money and his name won’t impress anyone,’ Ginny advocated. ‘He’s still a spoiled brat, thanks to his mum, but not as nasty. He’s kind of harmless now,’ she continued vaguely, ‘like a bully with two broken arms.’

Harry said nothing and went back to his homework. Yes, he had to grudgingly admit. Draco was not the cruel, irritating prat he used to be. But the natural agitation he felt towards him in class certainly helped something, so he wasn’t going to forgive Malfoy just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

A month after McGonagall forced Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to sit together every single lesson, the other teachers took notice and, much to their chagrins, followed her example.

Even Snape took pleasure in using any and every tactic necessary to get the two to sit and work together, though Harry suspected he was just getting creative with his torture methods. Snape still drew attention to Draco’s _cough_ imaginary _cough_ talent, but seating them together made it a convenience to point out Malfoy’s superior potions-handling in comparison to Harry’s poor skill. Harry did not think, at first, that the tactic would work in getting either of them to work harder. He had no desire to impress Snape. He knew if he created a perfect Felix Felicis, Snape would still prefer praise a failed Drought of Living Death by his favourite pupil. But Harry did want to do better than Malfoy, and for Malfoy to see it.

Hermione remained uninterested in joining Harry and Ron’s favourite new conversation topic, and neither of them let her forget it.

‘Don’t tell me you fancy him,’ Ron spat as they headed down for breakfast. The argument was becoming heated and Ron was already secretly (obviously) afraid that Hermione would choose Malfoy over him, something that Harry knew wouldn’t happen and wished Ron would believe.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, he’s not my type,’ Hermione retorted, spinning on her heel to face Ron, accusatory glare fixed in place. ‘Maybe if you spent less time worrying who I go out with, you’d be able to see _at least_ why I don’t hate him anymore,’ she growled, and stormed off.

Harry knew it wasn’t fair, but he felt a pang of irritation at Malfoy for making his friends fight like this. Malfoy wasn’t to know; apparently he was still being uncharacteristically decent. Harry knew he ought to be grateful for that. The warfare between them had quietened, not dulled, so Harry figured he was still allowed to dislike him. One thing he consistently forgot to consider was Draco Malfoy’s feelings. Harry had noticed little things here and there; the trembling hand during that first Transfigurations lesson, a furrowed brow, a quickly concealed glance. The way sometimes the blonde refused to look at or speak to him altogether, despite being seated only a handful of inches away.

Harry did not think much of any of it, at first. But the moments were adding up. Malfoy was either avoiding catching Harry’s eye or he was sneaking looks at him when he thought Harry wasn’t looking. It all seemed a little suspicious.

Hermione sat with Ginny at breakfast, and she and Ron glared at each other intermittently across the table. Harry blatantly ignored them and scarfed down eggs and bacon. Purely out of curiosity, and because he was facing that way, he looked up and let his eyes trace the line of Slytherins all draped and slumped around their own table in varying states of smug self-righteousness. All except for one, who sat at the very end of the table, warding off the occasional flying foodstuff with a flick of his wand.

He had no intention of admitting it to himself, but Harry could recognise poise when he saw it. It had been unnoticeable in the beginning, simply because there was so much to think about before, but when he thought back to how temperate and attitude-ridden Draco had been, it was easy to appreciate the patience with which the reformed bully received his petty tokens of bullying. He had a book open on the table and was flicking through it with his left hand, wand in his right hand ready to ward off projectiles. Harry had to remind himself after five minutes of solid staring that Malfoy was not redeemed in his eyes. No. He was not. Absolutely not.

Charms class resulted in a near-perfect result from both students. To Harry’s glee, he got it right three tries before Malfoy did, and his rival was all the more unsettled. As they both turned to leave, Malfoy nudged Harry under the table to get his attention, then leaned in close to breathe something in his ear.

Harry hadn’t expected the shivers that ran up his spine, or the way his toes curled as a warm breath washed over his neck. It took him a moment to register what Malfoy had said.

‘You won’t be so lucky next time, Potter.’

The sound of his name, whispered by a smooth-as-honey voice gave him goosebumps. He told himself it was disgust.

Lying on his back that night, Harry could not avoid thinking about it. Truthfully, he had never reacted that way to Draco before, but he had never been so physically close to him either. He was a boy, for pete’s sake. What was it that that muggle on the telly once said? Billy whatsit? “A penis can’t tell the difference between a woman and a bus.”

It was just that. There was no reason for him to obsess. Hell, if Ron got into his bed and snuggled up to him and he got excited, it wouldn’t mean he was attracted to him.

Meanwhile, in his own bed, Malfoy was being a lot more honest with himself. Or, he would have been, if he hadn’t been distracted by a flaming torch thrown suddenly onto his sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bahaha cliffhanger.
> 
> I didn't want to just leave you at chapter 1 because chapter 1 is mostly setup and nothing really happens, so here's a thing that is happening.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry woke to a faint commotion and a strong feeling of something being wrong at 2 in the morning. He staggered groggily out the door of the boy’s dorm still wearing his pyjamas. His scar did not hurt, but by now it had become natural to seek out any hint of Voldemort whenever chaos took hold somewhere in the school.

Instead, he came across a mixed reaction of dark ironic amusement and terror in the common room. Someone had lit a fire in the Slytherin boy’s dorms, and it had spread uncontrollably. McGonagall was trying to calm the storm of rumours and shouting already taking over the growing portion of awake and excited Gryffindors.

Harry’s mind flew right to Draco Malfoy. He knew, somehow, without a shadow of a doubt, why that fire had been lit. And at that moment, he decided that no, he didn’t utterly loath Malfoy, and no, he couldn’t think of a real reason to suspect him of foul play. He didn’t like him as a person for sure, but then again, who did?

Harry dashed back to his trunk, making sure he wasn’t watched or followed, and grabbed his invisibility cloak. He ducked and weaved out of the mess of people in the common room and into the cold corridor, running unseen past countless paintings down through the castle, all the while thinking frantically about what to do. He had his wand. Had someone managed to put out the fire by now? Why was he even really out here? It wasn’t his business. But still ...

He reached the dungeons, passing the Bloody Baron and a number of teachers who were trying to quell the flames. They were failing. It was as though with each attempt, the fire grew, devouring the very stones and eroding everything it touched.

A number of students were being rounded up by Snape, who was taking a quick roll call. Harry sped past him, determined to find a way in, but he paused quickly to listen. He looked from one frightened, ashy face to the next, growing more and more uneasy as he realized that Malfoy was most definitely not among them.

Noticing a gap in the flames, Harry bypassed the internal debate altogether and ran into the Slytherin common room past the open portrait hole, past the couches and the arm chairs, up a short flight of steps toward what he hoped was the boy’s dorm. _Surely he’d have had the sense to try and leave?_ Harry thought to himself, cloak shielding him somewhat from the rising smoke. He fought his way into the dorm, ripping off his cloak and bundling it up under his arm so a stray edge wouldn’t catch fire.

‘Malfoy?’ he called out, covering his mouth and nose with his hand as best he could to avoid choking. A black and green canopy fell onto a bed behind him, and a cry followed. Harry spun around. Using his wand, he sent the blazing mess of cloth and wood hurtling across the room.

Malfoy was pinned to his bed, right hand tied to one of the bed posts, trying frantically and in vain to untie it with his fingers, clawing desperately for his wand at the same time, choking violently on smoke and ash.

Grey eyes met green. There was scarcely time to register what was happening. Harry pointed his wand at the knot and it was undone in seconds. Malfoy scrabbled for his wand, grabbed it, and stumbled after Harry as they escaped.

Moments before they reached the portrait hole, Harry threw the cloak over himself and haphazardly kicked a stumbling Malfoy the rest of the way out of the Slytherin common room, and just in time. Fire belched out of the portrait hole and a teacher grabbed Malfoy. The heat and the fire subsided and Harry stood back, hidden by his cloak, and watched as Draco Malfoy sank to his knees with tears streaming down his sooty face, fancy silk pyjamas burned and torn. Snape tried to pull him back to his feet by his arm, but the boy refused to budge. He sobbed, the fear and outrage and frustration finally showing, dignity forgotten somewhere in the burning atmosphere. And somewhere in the crowd, a voice made the grave and obvious mistake of whispering to his friend,

‘How did he escape?’

Snape spun around, yanking Malfoy to his feet, quietly furious eyes immediately seeking out the speaker.

‘Presumably the intention was for him to stay in, at least until it was too late?’

A morbid silence followed the accusing question. Snape’s eyes narrowed by less than a millimetre.

‘Zabini, Indigo, Milton, I will see you in my office early tomorrow morning. The rest of you will spend the remainder of the night under the care of the head of Ravenclaw.’

He didn’t say anything further and a ripple of irritation and distaste spread through the crowd of Slytherins. They dispersed, barely daring to tease Malfoy as he all but leaned against Snape, tears still running down his cheeks. He refused to look at anyone, instead stubbornly facing the floor.

When Snape, Draco and the invisible Harry were the only ones left in the corridor, Snape leaned Malfoy up against a wall and crossed his arms.

‘You weren’t alone.’

Malfoy didn’t reply.

‘Someone bound you by magic, intending for you to perish in the flames. Assuming that this was no childish prank gone horribly wrong.’ Snape’s tone suggested that it was no prank. ‘Someone who was willing to go that far wouldn’t have been careless enough to allow you any chance of freeing yourself.’

Malfoy still said nothing.

‘Your rescuer wasn’t a Slytherin, I take it.’

Malfoy shook his head, then drew his hand up to his face to wipe away the ash and tears. It took a while, and he had to use his tattered pyjama shirt, but when he was done there was only a grey tinge to his skin and a smear on his cheek.

‘I think I was hallucinating ... no-one left the room after me, did they?’

‘So it was Potter.’

Harry balked. How could Snape know? Did he put the cloak on too late? But as he watched carefully, Malfoy turned away shamefacedly. His worry turned to intrigue.

‘Don’t use that against me. I was panicked, the room was full of smoke. I might have just hallucinated being helped.’ Malfoy spat out the words as though they were ash left in his mouth.

‘Mr Potter has ways of getting himself into these kinds of situations. All we can gather from this is that someone lit the fire, that Potter was present, and that he clearly does not want anyone to know he was there.’

Malfoy’s eyes widened, then narrowed. ‘Why would he try to kill me, and then save me at the last minute?’

Harry wasn’t sure of what to think at this. On one hand he wanted to give Snape a good hard kick in the shins, and on the other, he was too surprised by the fact that Malfoy was angrily defending him.

‘Anyway, he let _me_ see him,’ Malfoy continued, and seemed about to say more when Snape cut him off.

‘We cannot know his intentions, only guess them. It is well-known that he has a powerful dislike of you,’ as Snape said this, Harry tried not to over-interpret the flinch and barely concealed discomfort in Malfoy’s face, ‘and who is to say that that he did not change his mind at the last minute? Or that he didn’t want to distress you to the point of trauma?’

‘ _I’m_ to say,’ Malfoy growled. Harry could barely believe what he was hearing. ‘He’s far too bloody noble. If the thought of trying to roast me alive so much as crossed his mind he’d probably entertain the notion for five minutes, tops.’

‘Do not presume to think you know him. You’re getting carried away by your feelings, Draco, and it will be the end of you,’ Snape snapped. ‘It almost was.’

Malfoy paused. ‘They didn’t try to _end_ me because of ... they don’t know, do they?’ he asked, and to Harry’s ears it almost sounded like he was pleading. Snape said nothing for a long time. Harry tried to guess what they were talking about. A strong hint of what it may be hovered in his mind. But surely that was impossible.

‘You did not leave the Dark Lord’s side out of _goodness_ , Draco,’ Snape said finally. Harry strained his ears. ‘You did it because you are in love.’

Malfoy said nothing, but he refused to meet Snape’s eyes.

‘Does that mean that, when you finally come to your senses and realize that no matter what you do, he will never even _like_ you, you will return to the Dark Lord? Are your loyalties reliant on your head, or on your fickle heart?’

Malfoy still said nothing. Harry was surprised they couldn’t hear his heart pounding or his breathing. The corridor seemed so quiet after those words.

‘Like I said, I don’t even know if I really saw him,’ Malfoy muttered, chin tucked into his chest like a five-year-old. ‘I could have just gotten lucky and escaped by myself. I was probably seeing things.’

Snape’s expression was unreadable. Harry’s head felt like it could burst at any second, and at the same time he scrambled to reassemble his idea of Malfoy, of who he was, of what he was, of what _they_ were, the two of them. School rivals. Enemies. But no, evidently there was more to it than that. How long had this been going on? Malfoy didn’t love _him_ , did he?

‘You will be sleeping in my office on the couch. It will be best to keep you away from the other Slytherins tonight,’ Snape said, voice totally devoid of all emotion, inflection or indication of inner thoughts. Malfoy nodded, looking relieved that the conversation was totally over, and started plodding in the direction of Snape’s office, as Snape accompanied him.

Harry stood still and felt the ground beneath his feet for a few more moments. He could have sworn he saw Snape turn his head back to look in Harry’s direction for just a second.


	4. Chapter 4

Before the night before, Harry would never have referred to Malfoy by his first name. Now he wanted to. He wondered how Malfoy would react to hearing Harry say “Draco”, for once. Would he react like Harry had, when he felt Malfoy’s breath on his neck as his name was whispered in his ear?

It was complicated and difficult to discover, to understand, that Malfoy, his own personal opposing force, felt so strongly for him. He started to wonder obsessively about when it started, whether it had been obvious, really, and he had just been blind. Maybe Malfoy had been trying to get his attention all along, and had just been doing it wrong. But then Harry told himself not to get cocky and decided that Malfoy was probably a nice guy, he just preferred being a dick, and had labelled Harry as a convenient reason for wanting to come over to the good side.

Whatever the reason, Malfoy’s pride had been battered, he had sent his own father to Azkaban, his life was being threatened at school, and it certainly wasn’t for a silly crush. If it _was_ true, if Harry was the reason behind every self-sacrifice Malfoy was making ...

For the time being, Harry decided to swallow his pride and do the difficult thing. He had hated Malfoy for long enough. It was about time they made peace. Malfoy deserved that much.

His attempts could not start immediately, however. Malfoy wasn’t at breakfast the morning following the fire. The students who had been called to Snape’s office were not present either. Everyone within earshot was talking about it. Murder conspiracies and potential future assassination attempts were dwelt upon and discussed at length until Harry decided that he really needed a walk, and left the table.

With no classes that morning and decent weather for the first time in weeks, Harry decided to wander to grounds for the first half-hour. The attempted murder had brought more to light than just Malfoy’s true feelings. It was a reminder that violence was still at his doorstep. People weren’t safe. Not even within Hogwarts. Just because the evil was being kept out didn’t mean there was none within the walls to begin with. This wake-up call had kept Harry awake for most of the night – when he wasn’t thinking about Malfoy, he was thinking about what he still had to do.

...

‘Stay on your side of the bench, Potter.’

Even when most of the vitriol had left his tone, Malfoy’s voice had the seemingly unending capability to sound catty. Potions class remained much the same throughout their school life, and as though it had some unchangeable magical property, the moment the two boys stepped into the room, not even an open declaration of love could have stopped them from grating at each other. Then again, Malfoy had had a stressful night, and it didn’t look like he had gotten any sleep. His lower lip displayed a cut close to the left corner, and his hair looked like it had been roughly flattened on the way out the door. Even his tie had been done sloppily, giving Harry a strange urge to reach over and straighten the damn thing. Malfoy wouldn’t have come out in public in such a state a couple of months ago.

For someone who was willing to lay down everything he knew for the sake of the one he loved, Malfoy seemed like he intended to keep fighting. Harry wondered why Malfoy didn’t at least make some attempts at flirting. Those moments of thought, especially when uninterrupted, only ever resulted in Harry wondering if he _wanted_ Malfoy to make moves on him. That didn’t mean he was getting a crush in return, did it? Perhaps he ought to feel at least a little uncomfortable, shouldn’t he? But he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but deeply flattered.

Harry blamed it on his inability to concentrate on the task at hand, but Malfoy beat him (not that Harry had much chance anyway. Snape always found a way to make it look like Malfoy had won). Malfoy took a hollow pleasure in it. Harry had caught several small fleeting glances throughout the class, and also noticed that Snape was making a much less marked effort to keep his own searching looks from being noticed. His eyes barely strayed from the pair except to berate the occasional Gryffindor. Part of Harry wondered if Malfoy knew he had saved him wearing the invisibility cloak, and guessed that he had stayed to hear the conversation. That same part of him knew that Snape must have conjectured as much.

After deciding that something needed to be done about Malfoy’s precarious position, Harry came to the conclusion that an allegiance needed to be acknowledged. He didn’t need Malfoy to know that he knew about Malfoy’s feelings. He would let him hide it. Upon deciding, Harry felt a slight sense of disappointment, but squashed it before it could grow.

After Potions, it wasn’t easy to find Malfoy. Obviously, the ex-Slytherin Prince had practice in hiding, both from his housemates and from everyone else he wanted to avoid. Of course, Harry still had the Marauder’s Map, which gave him the upper hand over everybody when it came to hide’n’seek. Knowing that he had no chance of striking up a conversation during class, which was the only time he could interact with Malfoy on a casual basis, Harry waited until classes were over and went straight to the boy’s dormitory of the Gryffindor tower to find the map and find Malfoy. Instead of lurking around the dungeons or the corridor outside the Room of Requirement, Harry’s eyes found the Malfoy dot wandering aimlessly around a tower not far from the tower he was in, and he went quickly to seek him out.

He caught his target by taking the stairs two at a time, while said target descended, deep in thought. They almost collided and were saved only by awkward footwork and regaining balance against the walls of the stairwell.

‘What are you doing up here?’ Malfoy asked sharply, after the initial shock had worn off.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Harry automatically replied.

‘None of your business.’

‘Fine.’

Harry was dimly aware that this was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Malfoy lingered for a breath in front of Harry before making a move to push past him. Harry grabbed his arm.

‘Wait.’

Something new flashed over Malfoy’s face, but the expression, whatever it was, was gone as soon as it had appeared. Harry wished he had thought of what he was going to say instead of just coming after Malfoy. He really needed to get a hold of this “think now, act later” business.

‘What?’

Harry realized he was still holding Malfoy. He decided not to let go. He let his hand remain on Malfoy’s upper arm, just resting there, so it could be pushed away with ease if it wasn’t wanted.

‘I never thanked you,’ he said, thinking quickly. ‘You know. For … It would have been easier on you to follow orders, but you didn’t. I could be dead by now, if you’d just done what you were told.’

There was a lengthy pause. Malfoy’s eyes never left Harry’s face. Harry refused to look away first. Malfoy, stunned as he looked, was the first to break the silence.

‘That was pretty much what Dumbledore said,’ he said quietly. Harry noticed that he’d never heard Malfoy say Dumbledore’s name without scorn before. Not until now. ‘But you were both wrong.’

‘How?’ the last sentence had caught Harry somewhat by surprise.

Malfoy looked away, and shrugged Harry’s hand away as though it caused him discomfort.

‘It wouldn’t have been easy.’

Malfoy tried again to leave, but Harry gripped his arm again, feeling strongly that there was more to be said. It wasn’t supposed to end at a standstill, with no closure, with no established new ground.

The moment Harry touched Malfoy’s arm again, Malfoy spun around, stepping forward into his space and pressing him to the wall. It all happened in one fluent motion that didn’t register until it had already happened, as he was already pinned in place. Instantly, they were so close that their noses were touching, Malfoy’s face a bare inch from Harry’s, eyes staring intensely, even half-closed. In a split second, the rest of the universe ceased to exist. Harry could barely wonder what would happen next, but only two things came to mind. Either Malfoy was going to hit him, or Malfoy was going to kiss him, and somehow Harry couldn’t bring himself to care either way. He just wanted Malfoy to do _something_ , because the anticipation was driving him mad. Malfoy’s face was so close. So close that Harry could no longer tell if their lips had touched or not.

But Malfoy did nothing. He took a step back, as if he’d been doused in cold water, and turned and took the steps two at a time, until he reached the landing below and Harry could hear him walking briskly away down the corridor. His heart was pounding. His face was almost numb. He touched his fingers to his lips. He couldn’t tell if Malfoy’s lips had touched his, even for that fraction of a second. All he knew was that the very thought lit up a lightning storm in his chest, and it wasn’t anger or shame. He wasn’t disgusted in the least. He was exhilarated. And until he went to bed that night and lay down to properly think, frightened and excited, all he knew for sure was that he wanted it to happen again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, school has started up again and I picked up two shifts at work.

At first, what to do next about Malfoy was more difficult to figure out than what to do about Voldemort’s resurrection. Harry knew he needed to get his priorities straight, but he couldn’t decide what his actions would be regarding Voldemort until he had gotten Malfoy off his mind. He had given up on convincing himself that he wasn’t gay, and settled for the probability that he was bisexual. If Malfoy could make him feel more hot and bothered than a flirtatious girl who pushed her tits into his back “accidentally” before a Quidditch match, he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to boys. And Malfoy wasn’t exactly hideous. He had a certain charm, even if he had spent most of his life being an ass.

It was troubling, having a problem he couldn’t share with Ron or Hermione, but they seemed to be quite content to live in their own private little conflict. Harry was semi-glad for the distraction, so he wouldn’t feel too distanced from them.

‘I told you, they were _my_ eggs, because they were on _my_ plate. How hard is that to understand?’ Hermione repeated, for the fifth time that morning.

‘You weren’t eating them,’ Ron protested, for what felt like the tenth. Harry stole another glance over his shoulder while they fought. Malfoy still hadn’t come down for breakfast.

He had been actively avoiding Harry since that moment on the stairs. Even in class he had started refusing to work at all unless he was allowed to move to another seat. The teachers were at a loss as to who to be angry at, so they decided to be angry with both of them. All except for Snape, who was as happy to move Malfoy away from Harry as he had been to seat them together. Harry got a perturbed feeling that Snape was monitoring their relationship. The Potions professor had been picking on Harry less and stalking him more. Perhaps stalking was the wrong word, but it was difficult to apply any other word to Snape when he was keeping so keen an eye. Hermione had pointed it out, and even Ginny, who was in a different Potions class altogether, had noted the change.

By dinner on that particular day, Harry noted that Malfoy hadn’t come to the hall at all. He found himself worrying that Malfoy hadn’t eaten all day. Snape wasn’t at dinner either, and Harry’s suspicions about Snape stalking him were confirmed when Snape summoned Harry to his office via Filch for an unfair detention. Harry sincerely wondered if Snape was allergic to just calling people into his office for a chat, like a normal teacher.

‘There is no point in pussyfooting around the issue, so I shall make my position clear to you now,’ Snape began as soon as Harry shut the door behind him. He didn’t bother to take a seat. From the looks of things, Snape didn’t intend Harry to stay long.

‘Draco, as you may or may not know, is my godson, and as such his welfare is of particular interest to me,’ Snape continued. He was standing beside his desk, fixing Harry with a look that commanded attention. Harry hadn’t known Malfoy was Snape’s godson, but the news did not surprise him. Snape’s diligent loyalty to Draco, above all his other Slytherins, could never have stemmed purely from their shared history with the Death Eaters, or Draco’s family’s money.

‘I know you were present during our little talk after the fire,’ Snape continued, after a short pause. ‘I intended for you to hear everything.’

Again, Harry had suspected as much, but he was still caught off-guard.

‘Why did you want me to know?’ he asked.

‘Draco needs to know where he stands in relation to the war. He is confused,’ Snape said, sounding strangely accusatory, ‘and you have known the extent of which for _two weeks_ now. The issue of his feelings towards you needs to be addressed. I had hoped you would spare his pride and make your feelings known in turn.’

Harry was baffled at first by this onslaught, and took several moments to recover, during which Snape watched from the front of his desk with a sour look on his face.

‘So ... you showed me the truth about why Malfoy stopped being a Death Eater ... because you want me to ...’

‘The boy needs to wake up. And so do you,’ Snape interrupted impatiently. ‘So long as he clings to the illusion of a possibility of a future with you, his loyalty to Dumbledore and the Order is at risk. The sooner your disinterest is made plain and he understands his position, the sooner we can be sure that every decision he makes is made with a clear head. His life is at risk for his betrayal, you realize.’

Harry had to take another few seconds to digest what Snape had said, including that jarring final sentence. Snape thought that Harry wanted nothing to do with Malfoy. Snape had tried to provoke a knee-jerk rejection from Harry by revealing Malfoy’s most private secret, and expected ... what? For _Harry_ to feel ashamed?

‘You want me to go to Malfoy, and tell him I know how he feels, and just turn him down? Is that right?’

‘More or less,’ Snape said soberly. Harry wondered how he could phrase “fuck no” any better.

‘How would that improve anything? Don’t you think it would, I dunno, make things _worse_?’

‘He needs to be made aware of the reality of his situation,’ Snape repeated, as though he were talking to a five-year-old. ‘As long as he doesn’t know, he can trick himself into feeling hopeful. You have kept him hanging for long enough. He deserves to know the truth.’

‘You’re right, he does,’ Harry agreed, ‘but you don’t know what the truth is. So don’t tell me what I should be telling him.’

Snape raised his eyebrow painfully slowly. ‘And what is the truth, if it isn’t that you are too cowardly to let him down gently?’

Harry wondered how they got to this point so quickly. Even he didn’t know exactly how he felt about Malfoy. Why he was having this conversation, in Snape’s office, with Snape, of all people. All he knew was ...

‘I like him.’ And _why_ was he telling Snape this?! ‘Maybe I don’t want to marry him and adopt kids and grow old together, but I’m sixteen years old for God’s sake. The world isn’t hanging by a thread just because Malfoy and I can’t figure out what to do about being attracted to each other.’ Saying it out loud felt both weird and liberating. It felt scary, but it lifted a weight from Harry’s shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was carrying. Snape said nothing for the moment. His expression had barely changed. Harry felt his face warming up.

‘And what will you be telling Draco, in this case?’ he finally asked.

‘Isn’t it your job to manipulate everything that goes on between us?’ Harry retorted. The barest hint of a smile lifted the corner of Snape’s lips, but it may as well have been an illusion for the short time it lasted.

‘Allow me to clarify, if I may,’ Snape said quietly. If not for the perfect silence in the room, Harry may not have heard him over the distance, standing as they were at opposite ends of the room,.

‘After hearing the true reason behind Draco’s conversion, instead of reacting with distaste and avoiding his presence, you began to feel ... fonder of him?’

‘I suppose, but I don’t see why you have to repeat it.’

‘Bear with me. Would you say the attraction is purely physical?’

‘What? Why the hell do you need to know?’

‘I need to know whether or not you deserve the young man under my care. Do you have any genuine feelings for him?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Do you have any real interest in Draco?’

‘For Merlin’s sake, Severus, _stop grilling him_!’

Both Snape and Harry turned instantaneously to address Malfoy, who had emerged as abruptly as he had spoken, from the door beside Snape’s desk. He looked a mixture of exasperation, embarrassment and shame, his eyes constantly flickering between Snape and Harry, finally settling on the floor.

‘I told you to stay in the storeroom until he left,’ Snape said disapprovingly.

‘You were there the whole time?’ Harry asked, suddenly breathless.

‘Well I didn’t apparate into the storeroom midway through the conversation, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Malfoy returned hotly, without meeting Harry’s eyes.

‘Do you understand yet?’ Snape asked Malfoy, as though Harry was no longer in the room.

‘What’s there to understand? You hide me in the storeroom and tell me to keep quiet so you can interrogate him, just to –’

‘To make it clear that just because he has not leapt into your arms, it does not mean he hates you.’

Harry, flabbergasted by the barrage of revelations that had been showering themselves upon him for the past ten minutes, remained silent as the heated debate carried on before him.

‘You can’t just do shit like this whenever you get sick of waiting! I can take care of my own affairs.’

‘You don’t take care of your own affairs, you avoid them until they get bored and leave. I could only bear to intervene because watching you flounder about was worse.’

‘I wasn’t going to fall apart even if he did say he hated me! And by the way, what did you expect would happen if he _did_ hate me? Did you have some grand scheme sorted out just in case? Or were you counting on him coming out with a tender confession of puppy love, is that why you made me stay and listen?’

‘You could have left at any time. You could have nobly revealed my so-called “scheme” to Potter in order to spare him the embarrassment and won his respect, but you stayed.’

Harry, who had removed his glasses and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, groaned in exasperation. Snape and Malfoy suddenly remembered that he was in the room, and when Harry threw his glasses back on, he could see that Snape’s expression had only changed marginally into one of annoyance, while Malfoy looked like he was about to either explode or faint.

‘Have you both forgotten what I _actually said_?’ he asked desperately. There was no turning back. He may as well just out with it. ‘I like you, Malfoy. _Draco_. I like you.’

The silence seemed to echo. Snape observed, smug and satisfied. Malfoy hesitated. Harry could do nothing but wait. Several times it seemed like the blonde was about to say something, but he stopped himself every time. He hung his head finally, and a breathless, self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips.

‘Are you sure?’

The correct response came instantly to Harry, though later he figured it could easily have turned out a bad idea. He walked up, passing the desk, and put his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders, circling one around the back of his neck. Then, leaning up slightly on the balls of his feet, he pressed a firm kiss to Malfoy’s lips. At first the kiss was one-sided, unresponsive, which may have been due to Snape’s impassive presence, and may have been due to shock. But eventually Malfoy parted his lips slightly and closed them around Harry’s lower lip, letting one hand stray to the back of Harry’s neck, and he kissed back softly, unsurely.

In a few short seconds, the moment hit Harry squarely in the head. He was kissing Malfoy. He was _kissing_. Draco. Malfoy. In Snape’s office. And as Malfoy scraped his fingertips gently, as if by accident, over Harry’s left ear, a delicious shiver ran up his spine and he reflexively tilted his head so as to avoid squashing his glasses into his closed eyes.

 _I guess this confirms it_ , Harry thought resignedly. Then he reminded himself that there was nothing wrong with being a bit bent. And that a tall blonde was kissing him while tracing his jaw with shyly teasing fingertips. And he instantly felt better.

‘Unique and novelty as this moment is,’ Snape interfered after a few blissfully dazed seconds, ‘I would thank you both to move it somewhere else.’


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Lots of things in RL happening simultaneously.

Neither of them expected anything about their newfound romance to be easy. For one thing, Draco insisted on making Harry chase him. Harry didn’t want to have to prove himself, since Draco was the ass who needed to apologize for five and a half years of bullying, but he wasn’t about to pressure his seemingly damaged Slytherin about it.

Draco’s remaining insecurities were less than half of the problem. Making the transition from awkward ex-rivals to lovers was as hard as cutting a pebble with a blunt knife. There were niggling habits and reflexes to get over. They still annoyed each other purely on principle. Neither knew what was allowed or what was “too gay”, so moments of genuine passion and sensitivity (hand-holding under the table, a hesitant nuzzle after a spontaneous kiss) came in little bursts and typically ended in blushing and a refusal to look each other in the eye. Likewise, because it was so strange to talk about, they simply didn’t talk about it, and as a result they had no idea where each other’s boundaries lay. They were also still trying to get used to calling each other by their first names, which they only really did when they were alone together, but it felt odd after five and a half years of spitting each other’s last names like poison.

On top of all this, both boys were desperate to keep their fledgling relationship a secret. If it got out, not only would Draco be placed in even more danger, but Harry’s hero cred would very likely sink. Fraternising with a well-known ex-Death Eater, reformed or otherwise, wasn’t going to be welcome behaviour. Furthermore, no-one knew he was into guys. As if the Daily Prophet didn’t have enough excuses to plaster his face all over their front page.

Harry couldn’t even tell Ron, his very best friend, and he didn’t know whether Hermione would be freaked out or happy to learn that he taken her advice to be nicer to Draco so utterly to heart.

Ginny, sharp as she was, wasn’t as easily fooled as everyone else. She was used to keeping a thoroughly trained eye on Harry, so when she first noticed the looks and the touches the boys were sharing, she guessed correctly at the meaning behind them. Of course, if Harry was deliberately hiding the information, she wasn’t going to blab. She understood the impact it would have. But she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know, either.

‘At least you should tell Hermione. I can understand not telling Ron, but at least tell Hermione,’ she insisted one day, while the two sat alone in the evening in the common room. There was a match on between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at the Quidditch pitch, and normally the two would be there for the sake of the game, but Harry was feeling oddly tired and didn’t feel like going out in the rain just to watch two houses playing when he wasn’t up there himself.

‘Telling Hermione is about as good as telling Ron,’ Harry said, staring at the fire and inwardly wondering if Draco was still annoyed at him for pointing out how shitty his History of Magic essay was. ‘She’d snap at some point and tell him. I know she would.’

‘You need to trust her more. She’d understand.’

‘She’d trust Ron. And Ron would never talk to me again.’

Ginny sighed in frustration and pulled up her knees to huddle into the couch. ‘Has Malfoy told anyone?’

‘His godfather knows,’ Harry muttered. Snape was pretty much entirely responsible for them being together, yes, but he was still a manipulative prick.

‘He has a godfather?’ Ginny asked with interest. Immediately there was a frosty pause. Harry could guess by the expression on her face what Ginny was about to mention, and it made his stomach tighten uncomfortably. ‘If Sirius was still around, I bet you’d feel able to tell him. He’d support you whatever you do ... or whoever.’

The dirty pun on the end only cheered up the mood slightly, but Harry knew it was true as well, and that brought comfort. He desperately wished Sirius was still alive. He was envious of Draco for still having a mentor who so obviously would do anything for him. Sirius and Snape would have finally had something in common.

‘Promise you won’t tell Hermione,’ Harry pleaded suddenly. He would have told Sirius. He knew that. He would have steeled himself first, and done so hesitantly and in the most paranoid manner possible, but he would have told him. But without Sirius, there was no-one aside from Ginny he’d trust with the secret, at least for now.

‘I promise,’ Ginny sighed.

...

Draco was an easy enough person to read, and when he tried to open up, it was endearing. Harry wouldn’t call him cute, at least not to his face, but Harry sometimes got an urge to tickle or cuddle Draco like he never had with anyone else before. On one particular day, about two weeks after they had first admitted their feelings, Draco asked Harry the following question;

‘What did you mean by “like”?’

At first, Harry was surprised by how unsurprised he was. He was aware that he hadn’t actually said “I love you” to Draco even once. Love was such a strong word. He did want to _be with_ Draco, he did find him more attractive each day, and every new thing he learned was a new thing he liked. Draco’s soft spot for Turkish Delight had turned into a reason to get turned on by candy. Draco’s feelings could sometimes be read just by how dark his eyes got, even when the rest of his face was an impassive mask. Draco was someone Harry wanted to protect. The very thought of something happening to him because of his affiliation with Harry made Harry feel sick, and the thought of leaving Draco in order to ensure his safety made Harry feel even sicker.

So he told Draco this, and punctuated the end of the last sentence with Draco’s first name.

‘Well I think I understand,’ Draco said after a silent pause for contemplation. He went back to tugging handfuls of grass out of the patch that they were sitting on, turning his back to Harry. Harry wondered if he should have just said “I love you” to keep things simple, but then Draco lay back and rested his head in Harry’s lap, and Harry decided he was happy right where they were.

‘You were right, what you said about us not knowing what to do about being attracted to each other,’ Draco said, twirling his wand in his hands and staring at the branches of the tree they sat beneath. Harry was glad to hear it said out loud, even if it didn’t change anything.

‘I don’t ever know what to say or do,’ Draco said tentatively. Harry listened carefully. Draco wanted to say something, and was skirting around the topic. Harry knew the act pretty well by now.

‘I just wish you didn’t make me so fucking nervous,’ Draco growled, sitting up quickly and loosely circling his drawn-up knees with his arms, bowing his head. Then he turned abruptly, and pulled Harry close by the front of his shirt. When their mouths met hastily, their tongues did as well, almost by instinct, as though they had kissed in such a way a hundred times before. Harry was so used to the shy kisses, the I-don’t-know-what’s-normal-or-okay kisses, that Draco’s sudden boldness after his declaration of nerves stunned him into complacency.

He lazily swirled his tongue around Draco’s, and when he felt a narrow hand slide up his leg he didn’t flinch away. On the contrary, he felt his breath hitch, the heat rush downstairs, and wrapped his fingers around Draco’s wrist as it ventured daringly close to his crotch, stroking his inner thigh and even thumbing the zipper on his jeans.

Draco ended the kiss with a couple of licks at Harry’s lips, their noses nudging together as their eyes slowly opened. ‘I ... want to touch you,’ Draco admitted. His hand had slowed to a stop on Harry’s leg, the other still buried in Harry’s hair. Harry didn’t know what to say, but he wanted to give the right reply. Was there such a thing as too soon? Either way, it wasn’t like anything about their relationship was conventional. He pulled Draco’s hand to where he wanted it to be, and allowed his other hand to start undoing the buttons on Draco’s shirt. The pressure of another boy’s hand on his dick was delicious and unfamiliar. He hadn’t ever gotten hard so quickly.

‘Then touch me,’ he breathed, and yanked Draco into another deep kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry was worried that he wouldn’t know how to “do things” with another guy, but it didn’t seem to matter. That anxiousness only added to his anticipation of when they would next be alone; the Room of Requirement, the whole weekend. It didn’t help that Draco had been getting visibly horny. They couldn’t spend too much time together without drawing attention, so they only had scant few moments together until the weekend, and Draco was starting to push. He stroked his hand up Harry’s leg in class when they were sitting next to each other. He brushed Harry’s neck with his fingertips when they passed in the corridor. Harry wanted to tell him to back off before people noticed, but at the same time, it was exhilarating. And sexy.

They didn’t plan to go all the way. They just wanted to have a solid block of time together, to learn each other. There was a lot that had still been left unsaid. Harry urgently wanted to clarify the way he felt, to get it out in the open and make sure Draco understood. Every now and again, Draco would say something offhand that made Harry think he believed Harry _only_ liked him, and _couldn’t_ love him, and Harry wanted to disprove that.

Snape constantly gave Harry a worrying feeling that he could read minds. He seemed to be watching the pair more intently (he had seated them together again and they had pretended to protest) than he had before, which made Harry wonder if Draco had told him what they were semi-planning to do over the weekend. The idea was worrying, and a little squicky.

Unfortunately, Ginny wasn’t the only one to notice the change in Harry’s mood. Spending the entire weekend out of the company of his two best friends when they were already speculating about whether or not Harry had a secret girlfriend was dangerous, but there was no way he could call it off. And when Ginny tried to defend Harry from their interrogation, both instantly assumed something was going on between the two of them.

‘If you’re dating my sister, I think I deserve to know,’ Ron grumbled as they made their way straight from breakfast to Potions.

‘I’m not,’ Harry insisted. But at that very second, he got an idea. If he _did_ pretend he was with Ginny, it would direct attention away from himself and Draco, and though it may put Ginny in danger if the news were to somehow reach the ears of a Death Eater, it could deter another type of danger. He decided to run the idea past both Ginny and Draco.

The Friday before, Harry went to them with his proposed idea. He figured tackling it early, instead of on the day when Draco and himself were supposed to be seeing each other alone for the first time in days, would be best. He knew if he didn’t do it soon he would only end procrastinating the opportunity away.

Ginny was stubbornly against it.

‘Do you have any idea what kind of pressure that would put us under? People won’t believe it if we don’t at least act like we’re together, and what’s your loverboy going to think of that, eh?’

‘It’s not like we have to publicly kiss or anything,’ Harry protested. But Draco wasn’t much more supportive of the idea when Harry presented it to him, either.

‘A diversion is only going to be necessary when, _if_ , people start to suspect us,’ he insisted. Harry suspected it was mainly possessiveness. Draco already got jealous whenever he saw Hermione being her usual chipper, affectionate self with Harry, and wasn’t too keen on the idea of him even pretending to be closer to Ginny when she was already a dear friend. Harry didn’t see much of Draco for most of the rest of Friday, except at dinner, where Draco all but refused to even look in Harry’s direction.

Harry, secretly, knew why Draco was angry. The very idea of sharing Draco with one of Draco’s friends (if he had any) made him outrageously jealous. And to make it worse on Draco, no-one would accept Malfoy-with-Harry the way they’d accept Ginny-with-Harry. Ginny with Harry just sounded too natural. It even scared Harry. Because natural as it sounded, when he thought about spending time with Ginny, kissing her, loving her, it was utterly hollow. But when he thought about kissing Draco, his body seemed to fill with bubbles and people would ask why his eyes had suddenly lit up. He couldn’t explain it. But he wanted to, during the weekend, to make sure Draco knew. Just to make sure he _knew_.

So on Saturday morning, Harry got up two hours too early. He headed straight to the Room of Requirement to wait for Draco.

To his hidden delight, Draco arrived an hour early. The look of plain surprise on his face when he saw Harry already slowly pacing remained only for a moment, and then sank into a classic smirk.

‘Simply couldn’t wait, Golden Boy? I didn’t know you were so impatient.’

The tone in which the words were delivered might have annoyed Harry once, but they were delivered while an arm was being draped over his shoulder and a cursive glance was thrown down the hall, to make sure there was no-one in sight. Then Draco angled his head down for a swift but intimate kiss.

‘You’re one to talk. We were supposed to meet at one, weren’t we? It’s only twelve.’ Draco didn’t listen – he was too busy ignoring Harry’s point and peppering kisses along his neck.

‘Shouldn’t we wait until we’re in the Room, to do this sort of thing?’ Harry pointed out, though he was glad Draco hadn’t stubbornly continued to be angry at him.

‘It’s sort of ... exciting, though, don’t you think? The risk of getting caught,’ Draco murmured in between kisses.

‘Everything you do makes me think you actually want everyone to know,’ Harry said breathily as Draco’s hand moved to the nape of his neck and his mouth settled on his collarbone. But it didn’t stay there. Draco dragged Harry into the room by the front of his belt, where a ready-made bed sat reasonably close at hand and a fire crackled against the far wall. The door shut immediately behind them.

‘Maybe I do want everyone to know,’ Draco said, as he led Harry to the bed, sitting him down and straddling him. He pressed his face to Harry’s hair, his lips to his ears, whispering the words, breathing Harry’s scent. ‘Maybe I want the war to be over, all of this to have just gone away. I want to be able to introduce you to my mother at Christmas. I want ... I want it so badly, sometimes I think it could really happen. I just ... I want to be with you. That’s all, Harry.’

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say. Draco had clearly been thinking about it, maybe all night and all morning. At the pause, Draco reeled himself back in, and hid his earnest expression with one of pretend nonchalance.

‘But we can make do with what we have, I suppose. Consider yourself lucky, Harry. I normally don’t settle for half-measures.’ Pushing him onto his back, Draco leaned over Harry and kissed him deeply, letting his hands roam where they wished.

‘Spoiled brat,’ Harry teased, rubbing circles on Draco’s back.

‘Clearly,’ Draco said, sucking determinedly on Harry’s neck. Harry knew he was going to be left with a visible hickey. He honestly didn’t care. He played with the collar of Draco’s shirt and wriggled further up the bed so his legs weren’t hanging off the end. ‘I love you,’ he said. He said it without thinking. It was the truth. Draco stopped moving. When he lifted his face, his eyes met Harry’s and stayed, fixated, frozen, like time had utterly stopped.

‘If you’re saying that out of pity, Potter, I’ll have to kill you,’ he said matter-of-factly, but each word burned. Harry sat up, unseating Draco, and rolled him over so he could hold him to the luxurious sheets and stare him squarely in the eyes.

‘You’ll have noticed the scar on my hand by now,’ Harry said, nudging his nose to Draco’s. ‘I don’t tell lies. I could never lie about this.’

‘Then say it again,’ Draco challenged.

‘I love you,’ Harry repeated without hesitation. He knew he should be more nervous than this, but it was the plain truth. He had figured it out gradually. He knew how he felt. He could feel Draco’s heartbeat against his chest and his pulse against his lips. _Words can do this to him?_ Harry delighted at the thought. Maybe once their relationship progressed a bit further along he could try talking dirty and see what that could do.

‘Again,’ Draco repeated hoarsely.

‘I love you,’ Harry said, ‘you needy, pampered, wonderful bastard.’

‘I’m not just those things,’ Draco whispered, and Harry felt his adam’s apple bob against his cheek. ‘I’m lucky, too.’

‘Lucky,’ Harry repeated quietly. He had undone most of Draco’s buttons absent-mindedly, and he took the next rational step, wriggle-sliding the shirt down off Draco’s shoulders, smiling when his lover arched his back, allowing the shirt to be removed completely.

Harry took Draco’s arm, and before he had time to prepare himself, his gaze met the Dark Mark. It was a slight shock at first; he’d almost forgotten Draco had one. The blonde stiffened, trying futilely to twist his arm and hide it against the bed. He looked furtively away, off to the side. Harry knew Draco hated the ugly tattoo. He wondered if he shut his eyes while showering and dressing.

Harry shut his eyes and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the Mark. He heard Draco gasp and felt a tug, but kept a tight firm hold on Draco’s arm. He felt a faint, sickening writhing beneath Draco’s skin, beneath his tongue, as if the Mark could not bear the loving gesture. He traced a line from the bottom to the top, glancing up to see the shirtless Draco’s half-dazed expression as he watched, enchanted. Harry released Draco’s arm, suddenly shy and embarrassed by his improvised display of affection.

Draco threw his arms around Harry’s neck and pulled him back down onto the mattress, rolling him onto his back and pinning him there with the weight of his body. He hurriedly wriggled Harry out of his t-shirt, tossing it aside and kissing Harry furiously as soon as his lips were once more within reach. Enthusiastically, Harry’s hands went to Draco’s lower back, a place he knew Draco loved to be touched.

Pulling away slightly, Draco chuckled as Harry tried futilely to reach another kiss, but said nothing. Their eyes locked again, and then Draco lifted his face to press warm moist lips to Harry’s forehead. Harry’s scar. He kissed it gently, sweetly.

‘We’re both a bit damaged, aren’t we?’ he breathed. Harry nodded.

‘We match.’

He could feel the smile on Draco’s face before he saw it. Ginny might be what’s expected, of course. But with the weight of Draco’s body securing him down, stopping him from floating away on the bliss that was building up inside him, he knew where he really belonged.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry was only worried about one thing now. He knew how he felt, and he was okay with it. The student demographic, realistically speaking, was no more likely to believe that Harry and Draco were star-crossed lovers as they were to believe the same about Hagrid and Filch.

Things were going better than expected. But there were still minor complications with their situation. For instance, Harry could freely admit to being impulsive, but he didn’t expect his fist to automatically connect with Theodore Nott’s stomach upon hearing Draco’s name slandered outside Arithmancy. Nor did he expect the rage that bubbled up inside him when Ron started up his customary complaining about Draco. It was getting dangerously hard to control himself. In fact, every time Draco’s name was mentioned in a snarky tone of voice, Harry was fighting the uncontrollable urge to staunchly defend his lover ... or soon-to-be-lover, anyway.

The weekend had ended with a satisfying verbal conclusion – they loved each other. Draco had taunted Harry about his tendency to cuddle and habit for hair-pulling when snogging got intense, but accepted both behaviours in exchange for Harry tolerating his neck fetish (biting, licking and nuzzling included). But, despite the forty-eight hours they had in which to do, they hadn’t _done it_. Harry knew they were ready to move beyond dry-humping and palming each other through layers of cloth. A delicious hint of eroticism tinged every other conversation. They both knew what they wanted. They just didn’t know where to start.

Naturally, this was when Ginny’s infuriating ability to interpret Harry reared its head.

‘Maybe you should experiment a little,’ she said in the mostly-empty common room one day, as Harry tried to shush her, looking around nervously. ‘Be daring. Just get bold with your hands or something, see where things go from there.’

‘And I suppose you’ve tried this tactic yourself?’ Harry questioned dubiously.

‘Sure have,’ Ginny said frankly. ‘And I can say for sure that it works on boys.’

Harry hid his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees as he breathed steadily. ‘It’s not that easy with him. He turns off as easily as he turns on.’

‘Well, how do most groping sessions start for you two then?’ she asked, tapping the back of Harry’s head with a rolled-up Daily.

‘I dunno,’ Harry mumbled, blushing.

‘I can’t hear you.’

‘I _don’t know_ ,’ he growled. ‘It’s not like I can just plan one.’

‘Then pick a moment and set the mood. What kind of music does he like?’

Harry tried to imagine luring Draco with music, and snorted. Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘Hopeless,’ she said, clicking her tongue like a young Mrs Weasley and putting the newspaper down on the couch next to her. ‘Boys have needs, you and I both know that,’ she said. ‘Draco, pompous aristocratic that he is, is no more immune than any other bloke.’

‘That’s my pompous aristocrat you’re talking about,’ Harry warned, batting at her knees, and Ginny laughed. ‘So he finally stakes his claim,’ she crowed.

Harry smiled. He had to admit it, he was glad Ginny was still his friend. He had been afraid, given their history, that she might feel betrayed and abandon him once she discovered his secret, but she made up for Ron and Hermione’s well-meaning ignorance twice over.

Harry only wished Draco had someone on his side. Draco had no Ginny to confide in, no Hermione to rely on. He certainly didn’t have a Ron to muck about with when he just needed his best mate. Draco didn’t even have a Hagrid to retreat to when no-one else was helping. All he had was a godfather who was as likely to be comforting as he was to transform into a rainbow butterfly. All these responsibilities fell on Harry’s shoulders, and this meant he had to understand Draco’s every need when he barely understood his own.

‘You know, Hermione doesn’t mind you, and Ron could stand you if you gave him half a chance,’ Harry hinted one day as he and Draco sat in Potions trying to stir through the thick black muck in the bottom of the cauldron.

‘No thanks,’ Draco muttered. ‘And before you even mention Weaslette ...’

‘Why not?’ Harry complained under his breath. ‘If you think your reputation could get any worse by befriending a couple of Gryffindors ...’

‘One thing will lead to another and they will find out about us,’ Draco muttered sharply under his breath as Snape prowled past like a great black panther, looking with disdain at the stuff in the bottom of the cauldron and giving Harry a look that suggested it was all his fault.

‘Has it crossed your mind that they might actually be supportive?’ Harry suggested.

‘Has it crossed your mind that they might actually think I’m trying to seduce, kidnap and murder you?’ Draco retorted. ‘They don’t trust me. They don’t hate me, but they don’t trust me.’

‘They trust _me_ ,’ Harry insisted. It was hard to keep the discussion private. A couple of people were glancing over at their hushed conversation, and Draco noticed, going by the way he pointedly elbowed Harry in the side. Harry responded in kind.

‘Specifically, they trust me to know whether or not I’m dating a psycho.’

‘Shut up. You’re insulting my psychotic sensibilities.’

‘Draco,’ Harry whispered, gently squashing Draco’s toes with his heel. ‘They’re my best friends. They’ll find out one way or another. They already know I’m seeing _someone_. They’re not idiots. I want them to get to know you first, before they find out I’ve been hiding you from them.’

Draco, unhelpfully, wandered off after Potions, refusing to wait for Harry. Harry moodily returned to Gryffindor after a lengthy, aimless wander around the towers, expecting at least to have an evening to himself. Instead, he was met with a nervous Neville who stood shifting from foot to foot outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, biting his lower lip.

‘The password’s “fiddlesticks”,’ Harry said reflexively. The portrait swung forward, but Neville remained where he was.

‘What’s wrong?’ Harry asked. Neville glanced left and right, then pulled Harry by his elbow through the portrait hole, through the common room and up to the boy’s dormitory shared by the sixth years. Taken aback by Neville’s sudden anxious forcefulness, Harry reminded himself to expect the unexpected from people more often.

‘Zabini asked me to tell you something,’ Neville said, once he was sure they were alone.

‘Zabini from Slytherin? Blaise Zabini?’ Harry asked, automatic set on edge.

‘Of course, he’s the only Zabini in school,’ Neville said. ‘He said that you were the only one who could persuade Malfoy. He said you should warn Malfoy that he’s in trouble, that his secret’s out, and to tell him to be prepared. What does he mean? Do you know, Harry? ... Harry?’

Silence reigned for one long, terrible moment. Panicked questions crowded Harry’s head. How much did Blaise Zabini know? Did he know everything? Why had he asked Neville to pass on the message instead of speaking to Harry personally? What exactly was he threatening to do?

Stealing out of the house that night under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, Harry sped straight to the Astronomy Tower. He had owled Draco as soon as he could assuage Neville’s confused worry, and Draco had owled right back agreeing to meet up.

‘How did he find out?’ Draco asked instantly, the moment Harry threw off the cloak. ‘I don’t know,’ Harry said breathlessly. Draco searched Harry’s face. Then he sighed, and leant against the banister.

‘We’re dead if he goes anywhere with this.’

‘He might not have any proof,’ Harry said carefully, but he knew it was obvious he was grasping at straws. Draco shook his head slowly. Harry tried again. ‘Who would take his word over, well ... over our history?’

‘He’ll have evidence. I know Blaise, trust me, and he wouldn’t send a threat unless he had a way of backing it up. He’s not a fool. He’s a nasty, cunning bastard.’

Harry’s heart sank and he leant against the banister, squeezing Draco’s hand and moving in so their shoulders touched.

‘So what do we do?’

The total lack of answer spoke volumes. Draco’s head hung low. The moonlight didn’t touch his face. His stillness and silence told Harry that he shared the fear.

‘Could we try and call his bluff? Maybe he just saw something and guessed, and he’s banking on his popularity in Slytherin to back him up,’ Harry suggested weakly. The lack of confidence in his voice betrayed him, and Draco’s broken chuckle showed that he noticed.

‘Like I said. He’s no fool. He’s always got his arse covered.’

...

Harry went to breakfast the following morning wracked with dread. Having worked himself into a lather of fear, half-expecting whispers to begin the moment he entered, Harry was puzzled and relieved to see that nothing had changed. He still received the customary glance or two, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Stealing a glance at Slytherin, a scan of the table showed Draco hadn’t arrived. Harry couldn’t blame him. He had been half-tempted not to go to breakfast himself, but not wanting to look like a coward won out.

Glancing further along, his eyes settled on the slender dark form of Zabini, who looked up just in time to see Harry eyeballing him. Harry looked away hastily, but the damage was done.

Harry sat down. Even as he tried to ignore everyone’s words, save Ron’s Quidditch babble, Harry caught a snippet of conversation from the Slytherin table and couldn’t help looking up when he heard Draco’s name muttered. Draco had entered the Great Hall with a look of trepidation that showed he felt exactly as Harry did. Harry’s gut gave a minor wrench as he heard the whisper from Pansy -

‘Well, what do you know. The Fairy Prince had deemed us worthy to join for a humble breakfast.’

Giggles and snorts arose and Harry clutched his fork, trying desperately not to stab a green-tie-wearing bitch.

‘What’s the bet he bottoms?’ Nott dared to shout out, and was rewarded for his boldness by a round of hoots and catcalls and a piercingly sharp look from Snape. Snape’s look was quickly redirected to Harry, who was fighting a gargantuan temptation to set the Slytherin table on fire, clutching his fork so hard he though the imprint of the metal would dig into his fingers. Snape seemed to reconsider, and his look swept the Slytherin table again, doing nothing to subdue the new round of noise. Harry didn’t know what to do. Draco was pointedly looking away from him – whether out of anger at Harry for _not_ setting Slytherin table on fire, or cautiousness that Harry wouldn’t be brought into it.

Merlin only knew why, but the spits and taunts were directed purely at Draco. Harry had thought that if the story was going to be spread, the fact that Harry Potter was involved would be the icing on the cake. But it looked as though Zabini _only_ knew that Draco was gay, and that Harry was the closest thing he had to a friend (being the only person in school who spent so much time with him, even though it was only in class as far as everyone knew).

‘What’s all this?’ Ron asked with a trace of amusement, which disappeared as he looked at Harry. Harry had paled, and could barely speak. ‘Harry?’ Ron murmured. Hermione noticed too, though at first she was glaring at the Slytherins and looking with pity at Draco, who began to back away, planning to leave without staying for breakfast.

A tray of sausages went flying Draco’s way and he barely ducked in time. A stray sausage smacked him across the face, and the laughing rose, despite the fact that half the teachers had stood and were trying to quell the enthusiastic furore.

‘Don’t mind him, he goes in for that sort of thing,’ a girl jeered. Draco turned on his heel. Harry looked at Zabini and was struck by the supposed ringleader’s lack of participation. He had on his face a perfectly blank, measured expression, and barely seemed to be paying attention to what was going on.

Pansy was the one who stood and blocked Draco’s way to the door. Draco stopped suddenly. Harry was straddling the bench now, half-risen and ready to stand. Holding himself back was physically painful. Fear and anger raged inside him, each as strong as the other.

‘Pity you couldn’t at least get a sugar daddy to replace the one in prison,’ Pansy said slowly and deliberately, arms crossed as she looked up at Draco with sickeningly false saccharine in her voice. ‘No knight in shining armour coming to your rescue. Still, we’d all have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see that you’d end up all alone, isn’t that right?’

Harry rose to his feet. Fury replaced the blood in his veins. He didn’t register that the shouts were dying down with each step he took, that the tone had changed to hisses and sounds of curiosity, until he was standing right behind Draco. Pansy looked at Harry, clearly thrown, but her secure smirk returned when she saw he hadn’t taken his wand out.

Harry didn’t plan to use magic. He didn’t plan to hit, hex or shout anybody down. There was only one thing he needed to do.

Draco turned around, and upon seeing Harry so close, the devastation on his face gave way to panicked shock. He barely had time to shut his parted lips when Harry gripped the front of his shirt, and in one decided motion, kissed him in front of the entire Great Hall.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry could feel the tenseness of Draco’s shoulders underneath his hands. When their lips separated, it took several seconds for Draco to open his eyes. When he did, they held a grim expression of finality.

‘Do you realize what you’ve just done?’ he whispered. He sounded distressingly broken. Harry offered a nod, slight but solemn, his forehead bumping lightly against Draco’s.

‘I’m not ashamed of you,’ he said. He instantly wanted to say it again as Draco’s eyes began to glimmer, even as his lips remained in a tight frown and his body remained rigid.

An outbreak of whispers and sounds of shocked amusement and disgust broke the moment. They both turned to address the mass of dumbstruck faces. Harry slid his hand down to clutch Draco’s hand in his, feeling wave upon wave of his friends’ and associates’ horror and outrage wash over him. The Slytherins looked as ravenous as vultures. He didn’t know which was worse. He didn’t need to look at Draco to know he was feeling the pressure return. Giving the hand within his own a light tug, he walked steadily out of the Great Hall, pushing unnecessarily hard past a non-magically stupefied Pansy, and making sure everyone with their eyes on him got a good look of how high his head was held.

Harry knew they would have to talk about it afterwards. He didn’t want to say anything light-hearted or insincere about how he didn’t care what anyone else thought. He did care. He didn’t want to say something dismissive, that everyone was just jealous that Harry Potter ended up with the cutest guy in school. As they sat on the outskirts of the lake under a tree that afforded decent shielding from the sight of the castle, Harry wondered what he’d say.

‘Well, you’ve faced trolls and basilisks and bullying for five and a half years,’ Draco began bleakly. ‘How do you think you’ll handle this one?’

Harry didn’t want to have to answer the question, but he knew Draco expected an answer, possibly even relied on one. He looked at the ground and tried not to fret. The situation was beginning to dawn in its completeness, but he didn’t yet regret letting the truth be known.

‘They’re just people,’ he attempted.

‘I used to think that when I tormented them,’ Draco replied with acidity. ‘When I tormented Granger, and Weasley. And you. I was only a petty name-caller. This is bigger.’

‘Then you’d prefer I let them attack you, and just stood in the shadows pretending I’m not involved?’

‘ _Yes!_ ’ Draco exclaimed, rising to his feet and restlessly pacing to the water and back again, digging his shoes into the dirt. ‘I’m ... there isn’t a word for how I feel about being with you. Like guilty and lucky and undeserving and wrong and right, all at the same time. I would have told everyone already if I didn’t expect consequences,’ he insisted. ‘You’ve gone through enough unpopularity. I don’t want to be responsible for any more of it.’

Harry was once again stunned into silence by the outburst of Draco’s feelings. Draco shut his mouth abruptly, turning around and facing the lake, fidgeting.

‘I know,’ Harry said. And on a level, he did. He had never liked huge amounts of attention, and that was exactly what they were both going to get. ‘But I can’t apologize for doing what I did. It will probably be hell from now on, but it was hell having to see everyone do that to you and not doing anything about it. At least this way ...’

‘At least this way, what? You can protect me?’ Draco spat. ‘I’m not your damsel in distress. I was doing fine being hated for just being me. Now I’m not only _me_ , but the Chosen One’s bitch as well.’

‘Who says they’ll think you’re my bitch?’ Harry said, trying to divert Draco’s furious energy into something less worrying. Passion, perhaps. ‘Maybe they’ll think I’m you’re bitch.’

‘I know the way this works, Harry,’ Draco said desperately. He brought his hands down on Harry’s shoulders. ‘I was already doomed. You didn’t have to be doomed too.’

‘Well it’s not like we can obliviate them all or take back what’s already been done,’ Harry said, winding his fingers between Draco’s and holding on tightly. ‘Whatever they say or do, my feelings aren’t changing.’

Draco eyed Harry with a mix of frustration and lip-quivering adoration, before laughing in defeat.

‘You Gryffindors,’ he sighed, exasperated. ‘You need to learn to _think_ before you act.’

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and neck and let himself be lifted off the boulder. Draco’s closed his eyes but didn’t move in for a kiss. Instead he held Harry snugly around the middle, slowing his breathing and standing perfectly still, as though in a state of meditation. Then he opened his eyes, and Harry saw an immediate change. It hit him then that he had never before seen Draco with such a look of outright determination.

‘You’re going to meet my mother,’ he said resolutely. Harry stiffened, and not in a good way.

‘I’m going to _what_ your _what_?’ he hissed.

‘Yes you sure are, but only after you meet my mother,’ Draco said, winking. Harry’s breath caught in his throat and he was torn between horror and pure bewilderment.

‘ _Why_?!’

Draco pressed in for an inescapable cuddle and Harry couldn’t wriggle away, no matter how he struggled. He was not going to be dissolved into agreeing to such a ludicrous idea with a simple cuddle. He was Not. Never.

...

The pair went back to the castle after the date was set. Summer holidays. Harry Potter was meeting Narcissa Malfoy, and whether it was a punishment or a thankyou, he had no idea. The Weasleys would either understand, or, worst case scenario, not want him in their house anyway. As for the school day they currently faced, Harry and Draco had classes and couldn’t skip just because they didn’t want to face the music.

On the slope between Hagrid’s hut and the tall wooden front doors, Draco suddenly stopped. He looked up at the towers and turrets blankly, and Harry waited patiently for a little while as they both gazed at the school.

‘I felt just like this a few months ago,’ Draco said quietly. ‘After telling Dumbledore about the mission I’d been given.’

Harry stepped forward, not bothering to look around to see if anyone was watching before he put his hand on Draco’s waist. In a way, it was a relief.

‘This year has been so fucked up. I honestly can’t see it getting that much worse for me, unless the Dark Lord finds another way into Hogwarts,’ Draco said, by way of reply to Harry’s gesture.

‘Don’t worry about me, then,’ Harry insisted for what felt like the tenth time, and encouragingly hugged Draco’s side. ‘I take on trolls and dragons and that all the time, remember? I’m not going anywhere.’

Draco unbalanced Harry with a deft kick, and swooped down to rescue him with a bent knee and arms around his shoulders and waist. It occurred to Harry that Draco had just _dipped_ him, the most soppily romantic gesture known to man, before Draco’s lips were on his and they were kissing again, both sweetly and hungrily. Harry uncomfortably rearranged his arms so they didn’t hang uselessly, and all too soon, the soppily romantic kiss ended, and Draco was looking down at Harry with a bizarrely content smile.

‘Why the sudden exhibitionism?’ Harry whispered.

‘It just occurred to me that this is probably the last time today I’ll be able to kiss you without freaking out about other people. What they think, whether they’re watching. What they might do to either of us.’

Harry hadn’t thought of that. Draco, whether because his arms were getting tired or because he thought the moment was past, began to lift Harry back into a standing position. Harry gripped Draco’s shoulders and closed their lips together again, concentrating all the necessary feeling he could into the kiss, locking it like a door he may be able to open in the future if ever he needed to remember why he wasn’t going to give up on Draco.

As if he could read his mind, Draco kissed back with his eyes closed and his arms encircling Harry’s body like a protective shield.

…

The first people they encountered on the steps up to the entrance, were the last they expected. On top of that, they were sitting next to each other, and having a very involved conversation.

Neville looked up before Blaise Zabini finished his sentence, and barely had time to stop Harry who had taken out his wand and had it trained on Zabini’s face.

‘Wait, Harry! Just wait for a moment, it wasn’t his fault,’ Neville said in a rush. Draco was looking between Neville and Zabini with a purely puzzled expression. ‘May I ask?’ he asked flatly.

‘He wasn’t actually threatening you when he threatened you the other day, he was only threatening Draco, only it wasn’t a threat really, it was a warning, not from him, but from the girl, the nasty one who looks a bit like a pig,’ Neville said, tripping over words in an effort to get them out all the more quickly. Zabini rolled his eyes and inhaled tiredly.

‘What your eloquent friend here means to say,’ Zabini began, as Neville blushed with embarrassment, ‘is that I was trying to warn you about Pansy. She caught a glimpse of you,’ he inclined his head to Draco, ‘cuddling up to an obviously male body the other day, she just didn’t realize that it was _you_ ,’ he finished, indicating to Harry.

Harry was momentarily struck dumb, but Draco wasn’t.

‘How generous and caring of you,’ he drawled, summoning his former acidic tone. ‘I don’t know how we possibly might have survived without your complete and total lack of real help.’

‘You know I can’t have told you outright. It wouldn’t have made a difference. And I have my own reputation to worry about, which, mind you, I’m risking just by sitting here. So if you don’t mind ...’

‘Who’s side are we supposed to think you’re on, Blaise?’ Draco snapped. ‘Drop the act. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but whatever it is, it’s not working.’

‘Clearly,’ Zabini growled.

‘Wha ...’ Neville tentatively attempted.

‘I’m trying to apologise, you stupid red-and-gold git,’ Zabini snarled at Neville, who shrank back on his stair. Zabini looked back at Draco and sniffed. ‘Your sudden bout of good nature is contagious. I helped with the fire in the boy’s dorm a month and a half ago. It was a reckless and mindless thing to do. I abandoned you the second you abandoned You Know Who, which puts me in a very negative light if any of this goes forward. I don’t want forgiveness, I just want to move on with my self-centred life. Now if you don’t mind,’ he finished, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his chest, ‘I have a class to get to.’

Zabini left the three behind to vanish into the hum of noise and movement inside the castle.

‘That must be the nicest thing he’s ever said to anyone,’ Draco finally said in mild irritation and wonder. ‘And it wasn’t nice at all.’

Harry, realizing he had been entirely silent up until now, checked his watch.

‘We don’t have that much time until class,’ he said. ‘I still need to get some things from my bag.’

‘Right here,’ Neville said, pushing Harry’s bag forward on the steps. He shifted in discomfort under the surprised eyes of both boys.

‘What? I knew you’d probably be a little while, talking and whatever, so I took the liberty.’

‘Thanks, Neville,’ Harry said sincerely. Draco raised his eyebrows and sighed, looking more confused by Neville’s actions than by Zabini’s.

‘Gryffindors.’


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. We're past the tipping point.

**.NB.**

‘Hello.’

‘Oh ... hello.’

Neville was used to cursing his luck, but he was still surprised when he saw Blaise Zabini sitting at the library table Neville liked to use. Making a sudden exit would seem cowardly, and he had learned that appearing cowardly to an enemy was a bad idea. Also, he had learned from Harry, if not as much from the other Gryffindors, that being brave was preferable. Also, he _liked_ sitting at that table. And he wasn’t going to change his habits for any Slytherin, even if they were a bit less Slytherin-y than other Slytherins.

‘Herbology assignment?’ Neville asked, settling in the seat he was used to using, which happened to be right across from Blaise. Without looking up, Blaise nodded once and continued to read the roll of parchment spread out before him.

‘Me too,’ Neville said, trying to sound casual, but probably sounding on-edge. He took the first book from the pile he had carried to the table: _Wonderful Weeds and their Many, Many, Many, Many, Many Uses_. Immersing himself in the first chapter, Neville resigned himself to total silence.

A bored, irritated sigh soon lifted Neville from his semi-reverie.

‘Listen, Longbottom. The only reason I spoke with you at all the other day was because of Malfoy. My opinion of Gryffindors has not changed. My opinion of you has not changed. We are not friends. We. Are. Not. Even. Acquaintances. As far as the student body is concerned, I don’t even know you.’

Neville instantly felt a flush of humiliation. He was used to getting blown back when trying to be friendly. Being the house dork had helped him grow accustomed to rejection. But this was just ridiculous. And this was _his table_!

‘Well I’m sorry if you don’t know how to be friendly, but don’t flatter yourself,’ Neville hissed, after glancing to each side to make sure the librarian wasn’t patrolling. ‘I’m here to do my homework. If I wanted to make a new friend ... let’s just say I have better taste.’

Blaise sat perfectly still, as still as a cobra. His only movement was to arch his eyebrows. The single gesture conveyed such a wealth of reaction that Neville’s mouth snapped shut and internally, he began to tell himself off. How hard would it be to just walk away, really? It’s only a stupid table. And Blaise was better at magic than he was. He was going to get himself hexed into next week. _This is why I should just keep my mouth shut_ , he thought anxiously.

Just as Neville was mentally preparing himself to get his things together and leave, Blaise’s lips curved into a smile, and he looked back down at his parchment.

‘Alright, Longbottom. All - right.’

Neville wondered exactly what “alright” meant in this context, and whether he should still make a break for it. Blaise did not say another word. Taking his chances, Neville remained where he was, and gradually went back to his book.

He could have sworn, over the following hour and a half, that he felt a pair of eyes watching him. But he never quite caught Blaise looking.

 

**.HD.**

Classes were a tense mass of tiny moments of conflict, of comments, stares, looks and near-confrontation that neither of them could ignore.

Neither Harry nor Draco made any effort to hide their closeness. Not anymore. They didn’t hold hands, and they didn’t kiss in front of other people, but they didn’t need to. They voluntarily sat together, and with each class Harry added to the mental list of people who avoided sitting near him, noting with melancholy that Ron was at the top of that list, followed closely, to his surprise and disappointment, by Hermione.

Luna, Ginny and Neville seemed to be the only students who were even vaguely friendly to either of them. In Luna’s case she didn’t appear to have noticed the change, until she romantically congratulated them on the one-week anniversary of the “Great Hall Kiss”. Ginny attacked every Slytherin who had dared speak up about the relationship. She was on a roll, having hexed at least a fifth of the population of Slytherin house, some Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, and even a few Hufflepuffs before the end of the week. Neville meekly sat with Harry and Malfoy in classes, much to Harry’s appreciation and Draco’s disbelieving annoyance.

‘To be honest, I was looking forward to having you all to myself,’ Draco commented, as Neville sat perfectly within earshot in the Astronomy tower. Harry glared at him, and Ginny made a loud “awww” as she dumped herself pointedly beside them, bag, sandwich and all, and got out her homework.

‘The Gryffindor common room is not a friendly place for Potter-Malfoy sympathizers, and anyway, we like studying up here. Quit complaining,’ she said as she opened a textbook on her lap.

‘Well thanks very much for your _sympathy_ , but I don’t recall inviting you ...’

‘ _I_ invited her,’ Harry cut in, returning Draco’s stubborn expression. ‘There’s no need for anyone to be hostile. We could do with a few friends.’

‘I don’t need friends, Harry, I’ve gotten along fine without them for years,’ Draco said. Then he stood and made his way down the stairs without another word. Harry wanted to get up and follow, but he hesitated. Draco was being unfair. _Why_ he was being unfair was a mystery, but that was something they could discuss in private.

Neville was practically squirming with discomfort as Ginny sat calmly studying as if nothing had happened.

‘He sulks sometimes,’ Harry said weakly, mostly for Neville’s benefit.

‘Maybe I’ll go to the dorms and do my homework on my bed,’ Neville said. Harry let him go, and sat silently across from Ginny wondering if he had gotten his hopes up about his friends too soon.

‘Boys,’ Ginny sighed, and clicked her tongue in that Mrs Weasley way again. ‘Malfoy’s probably just feeling the pressure, and you know how uncomfortable Neville is with conflict. They’ll both get over it.’

Harry was overcome with an urge to hug Ginny. He settled for an honest “thanks”, and did what he could to help her with her potions homework. He had done most of it the year before, and the feeling of being able to help someone again, even in a small way, gave him a small but worthwhile measure of comfort.

 

**.NB.**

‘Actually, some bonsai trees do have some magical properties,’ Neville explained as he packed away his bag and books. Zabini cocked his head to the side and gave Neville a silent look.

‘Really,’ Neville insisted. ‘You don’t have to use potions or shape them a certain way or anything. Sometimes seeds just possess these unique properties, and you know what? Every clipping taken from that plant, and any clipping from those clippings after they grow, and every generation after that, will have just as much magical power as the tree you took it from.’

‘It does not count if the magic occurs randomly, and not throughout the whole species,’ Zabini said flatly.

‘Think of it the same way as you’d think of purebloods and muggleborns ... although I suppose it doesn’t make a difference to you,’ Neville said, not wanting to changing tack. ‘The thing is, a muggle-born is still a witch or a wizard with potential, just as much as any pureblood. And bonsai trees are the same. If it has magical properties, then it’s a magical plant.’

‘You’re a philosophical klutz, Longbottom. But I confess, your herbology makes up for everything else well enough.’

It was the nicest compliment Neville had received from anyone besides Professor Sprout. Not even his own grandmother had said anything like that to him. It threw him for a moment, even as Zabini started packing away his own books, oblivious to the pleasure his words had caused Neville.

When he realized that their things were packed away, their books stacked, and yet neither of them had moved, Neville realized that Zabini was waiting for him.

‘Ah ... Thanks,’ he said, grasping for something to say. ‘You’re pretty good on agriculture yourself.’

Zabini chuckled, and picked up his books. ‘The library’s closing. Maybe we’ll continue this conversation next time we’re alone, and no-one can see me talking to you.’

With that, Zabini was on his way out the door, and Neville was left staring after him in a mist of utter confusion.

 

**.HD.**

Draco did not apologize for over a week. He kept muttering complaints whenever he was subjected to any of the only three people who remained friends with Harry, but he didn’t storm off ever again. Harry tried to look on the bright side and feel glad that he had any friends left at all. He also looked on the bright side about Draco. Draco had once made a social business out of hating him when everyone else loved him. Their social life was polarized now. After being surrounded by idols who only loved him for something he had no actual memory of, Harry was glad to be loved by someone who didn’t give a shit about his fame.

‘Why do you have such a problem with them? They’ve accepted you as a part of my life, and you can’t deny that’s pretty impressive, given how nasty the rest of our houses are being. As well as our history.’

Draco pouted and said nothing. They were sitting by the lake in the same spot they had sought refuge in after that horrible moment in the Great Hall. It had become their spot.

‘I just want to know,’ Harry implored. He knew that talking was hard for Draco, but this problem needed a resolution, and he wanted to sort it out as soon as possible so they could get it over with and get back to getting beyond second base. He wasn’t a sex fiend, but it had been increasingly present in his dreams and imagination.

‘I don’t expect you to give up your friends for me,’ Draco said eventually. ‘I’d never ask you to do that. I just … I meant it, when I said wanted to have you all to myself for a while, that’s all.’ He paused, and Harry listened quietly. ‘Having your friends there just makes me feel out of place. I just want to be alone with you for a while. But I don’t want you to feel alone. So if you spend time with them, that’s fine. Just don’t expect me to pretend to feel comfortable when they’re around.’

Harry was at a loss for words. He silently leaned in, expressing as much affection as he could without climbing all over him. The conversation was peacefully ended as Draco let his cheek rest on Harry’s hair. They sat in silence watching the water lap lazily at the rocks.

The peace did not last for long. The telltale sound of laughing and excited jeering reached Harry and he went rigid. He looked over Draco’s shoulder to see a small crowd of Slytherins, headed by Pansy.

Since Draco had taken leave of the position of Head Bitch of Slytherin House, Pansy had enthusiastically taken it up, and played the role with eager aplomb.

‘Oh look,’ she said, bounding up like a dog that had found a wounded bird. Draco _tsked_ and prepared to stand.

‘No need to stand on my account, gents,’ Pansy said sweetly as her friends pooled at her sides. Harry noted that Zabini was still not among them. Zabini had been moving in careful circles lately. ‘After all, I’m sure you’re pretty sore these days.’

‘You tell me,’ Draco said absent-mindedly. ‘I hear you’d bend over for anyone’s praise and attention these days.’

‘Watch your mouth,’ Pansy said, dropping the pretend-cutesy voice. ‘You’re not at the top of the food chain anymore.’

‘And you sound like a comic book villain,’ Draco replied. ‘I even did a better job of being an asshole than you. You suck, Pansy, and not in the fun way.’

Harry had prepared himself to stand and pull Draco away from the confrontation (before he went and did something like hex Pansy’s uniform into a swarm of bees), but he was honestly a little entertained by the banter-show unfurling before him. Pansy’s friends were sneering at every word Draco said, but the occasional small smile betrayed their real feeling.

 _Slytherin’s lost a great wit, even if he is only good at being nasty_ , Harry thought with a complete lack of wistfulness.

Unexpectedly, Zabini made his entrance. He sauntered down from the treeline as if on a leisurely stroll, looking with feigned disinterest between Draco and Harry on the rocks and Pansy and her friends milling around.

‘I didn’t think you’d stoop so low as to waste time in the company of blood traitors and perverts,’ Zabini said offhand to Pansy. She snapped up the opportunity to make her exit and nurse her stab-wounded pride.

‘You’re right, Blaise,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. They aren’t worth my time.’ She tossed her hair and swaggered off with her small crowd, as though expecting Draco and Harry to feel rejected by her sudden disinterest.

‘How valiant of you,’ Draco said, as soon as the enemy was out of sight.

Zabini crossed his arms. ‘I repeat. I’m not doing this for applause.’

‘No, of course. You’re doing it because you feel guilty about nearly killing me, and expect nothing in return. Honestly, Blaise, what am I more likely to believe?’ Draco scowled. Harry looked with unmasked surprise at Draco. Draco hadn’t sounded this pissed off in several weeks, but the look he was giving Zabini was murderous.

‘Thanks for helping,’ Harry said, before Draco had a chance to continue. Zabini shrugged.

...

The Gryffindor common room wasn’t a welcoming place for Harry these days. He suspected it was less to do with the fact that he was gay, and more to do with the fact that he was dating Draco Malfoy. Even those who had frowned as Draco was ridiculed by his housemates now gave a Harry similar treatment. Boys covered their rears and ran to the other end of the room, and girls would loudly reassure them that Potter only fancied pureblood-supremacist Death Eaters. Others would gently disapprove, ignoring Harry’s presence or being rudely over-polite. Having Ginny around helped Harry’s chances of being left alone, but she wasn’t there all the time, and less than half the house was as careful around Neville, despite Neville’s vigilance in staying by Harry’s side no matter who said what.

Sleeping in the same room as Ron, Seamus and Dean was near-unbearable, and Neville helped with that in no way whatsoever. Ron acted as though Harry didn’t exist anymore. Hurtful as it was, Harry didn’t let it show. Much as he missed Ron’s loyal friendship, he didn’t want Ron thinking for a moment that he couldn’t get by without him.

Hermione spasmodically responded to Harry’s quietly despondent self-respect differently. Sometimes she would sit within a few feet of him and send him a tentative half-smile in greeting, and other times she would avoid him altogether, particularly when Draco was in the room. Somehow, Harry was more bothered by her unpredictable behaviour. At least Ron was consistent.

Sitting alone in the common room late one night after hours of being unable to sleep, Harry saw Hermione descend the stairs. She came to a halt when she saw him.

An odd ache started up in the centre of Harry’s chest. He couldn’t bear to see her turn and go back up the stairs because of him. Because of her mercurial disgust toward him. Without a word, Harry stood and started for the staircase to the boy’s dorm. He had had, and was more willing to lay wide awake in bed than deal with that all over again.

He jumped slightly when he felt a hand on the back of his old flannel pyjama shirt, and turned to see her standing with her hand outstretched, other hand clutching a book to her chest, eyes unsure and wide with concern. He hesitated a moment, then went back to the couch. Hermione went with him. At first they sat beside each other in utter silence, neither one willing to talk.

Hermione flung her arms around Harry’s neck, exploding into a sobbing fit. The apologies came thick and fast for a solid three minutes. Harry patted her back in bewildered, tired relief.

Hermione sat back and wiped her eyes and nose on a conjured hankerchief. She choked out a laugh to try and ease the tension before looking frankly at Harry and asking the question no Gryffindor had managed to ask, but all wanted to know the answer to.

‘Why Malfoy?’

Harry fought the urge to shrug or joke. ‘I don’t really know. It just sort of happened,’ Harry said. ‘I found out ... alright. Remember the night the Slytherin dormitories were set on fire?’

For the first time, Harry described in full detail exactly how he came to develop feelings for the last person on Earth it made sense to develop feelings for. It was strangely satisfying to say it all out loud. When he finished, Hermione made a brief attempt to say something, then gave up and stared solidly at the wall.

‘Harry ... I don’t know what to say. It makes no sense. I mean, _Malfoy_ ...’ she trailed off and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing. But honestly, if he cares for you enough to defy You Know Who, and you love him enough to willingly throw yourself to the proverbial sharks in defence of his honour, then … then, well, you _should_ be together.’

It was Harry’s turn to be speechless. Hermione smiled weakly, and so did he. And just like that, the world became a tiny bit less bleak.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack
> 
> with fail!sex

They used the marauder’s map to find an empty classroom in which to spend the second Saturday since blasting out of the closet. Harry and Draco bickered through hallways, carrying a bag of cakes and nibbles they had gotten from the kitchens. Harry’s friendship with the elves had tickled Draco, and given him an endless source of ammunition for jokes about “Harry Potter, not only the People’s Hero, but the House-Elves’ Hero, the Scullery Maid’s Hero, the Butler’s Hero ...”

‘I refuse to believe that you can’t get along with anybody but me,’ Harry said, and Draco scoffed.

‘No-one else has a bum like yours,’ he responded, and pinched it to make a point. ‘Besides, none of your friends qualify for me.’

‘Why not?’ Harry challenged. ‘I put up with your godfather, _and_ you’re making me stay at your mum’s for the holidays.’

‘Firstly, house-elves make wonderful cakes but positively poor conversation. Secondly, Zabini is a fucking velociraptor. Thirdly, your fag hags ...’

‘Don’t call them that.’

‘... are _your_ fag hags. The only thing we have in common is _you._ ’

‘You’ve barely tried to get along with them.’

‘I can’t resist the temptation to torment Witless Wonder Longbottom ...’

‘That’s still my friend you’re talking about.’

‘Quite frankly, Weaslette scares me, and so does Lovegood. And Granger took her bloody time getting over it. On that note, you have too many girlfriends.’

‘Is it really so difficult for you to make an effort? For me?’ Harry felt slightly ashamed as he said it. He very rarely resorted to puppy-dog eyes, and it very rarely worked.

‘Of all the things you could ask me for, Potter,’ Draco sighed, opening the door to the empty classroom and sitting on the teacher’s desk. ‘Of all things. You could ask me to perform a striptease and I’d sooner do that.’

‘Really?’ Harry asked teasingly, taking out a punnet of strawberries and seating himself on the floor on his spread-out jacket. Draco’s eyes glinted, and he reclined with his back to the desk.

‘I’m better at showing myself off than I am at getting along with Gryffindors. You know I’m an exhibitionist.’

In a flash of inspiration, Harry picked out a strawberry. He held it by the stem and took the tip between his lips. Draco’s gaze was locked in an instant, captivated by Harry dragging his tongue to the tip before sucking the whole fruit into his mouth. Harry could almost see Draco’s thighs tense. The influence he had over his boyfriend’s body was intoxicating. He didn’t even have to _touch_ Draco to make him horny.

He took out another strawberry before offering the container to Draco.

‘Keep doing that, and you can have the whole damn box,’ Draco said. Harry blushed, and looked down at the strawberry in his hand.

‘Don’t tell me now that you’re modest, love,’ Draco said breathlessly. ‘After that little display?’

‘I’ve never actually done this before,’ Harry admitted, rolling the strawberry in his palm. He heard Draco stand, but didn’t look up until Draco sat down on the floor close enough that there was barely enough room between them to move.

‘Then let’s share those, and I’ll teach you something,’ Draco breathed, and coaxed the strawberry in Harry’s hand to his own lips. Harry knew why Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away the moment Draco drew the strawberry halfway between his top lip and his tongue.

Harry leant forward and stole the other end of the strawberry, kissing Draco gently in the process.

‘We should have more picnics,’ Draco said after swallowing, and picked another strawberry. Then, without warning, he lay back and started unbuttoning his black shirt.

Harry felt mingled nerves and excitement. Draco opened his shirt, baring his pale, slender torso to the watery light of the empty classroom. Teasingly, he placed the strawberry in his navel, and stretched his arms up before crossing them behind his head.

Harry cursed and thanked the gods for Draco’s unpredictable creativity. He knelt forward, unsure but knowing he had to do something, and licked a trail from Draco’s belt to the strawberry sitting in his bellybutton. Unable to resist, he tickled Draco’s navel as he drew the fruit into his mouth, kissing a trail up to Draco’s chest as he chewed. Fumbling blindly for another strawberry, Harry ended up torn between a desire to mess around and see what worked, and fear that he would do something stupid and Draco would laugh at him. He knew that Draco was more likely to laugh at indecision than bad decisions, so he took the chance, bit the strawberry in half, and touched the bitten end to Draco’s left nipple.

Judging from the resulting gasp and suppressed arch of Draco’s spine, Harry figured he had done the right thing.

Kissing Draco’s nipple, Harry traced lazy circles with his tongue and copied the movements with the chunk of fruit, before swapping the strawberry and his mouth to the opposite nipples and smiling at the taste left by the cold, sweet fruit. Draco’s reactions were so strong that, for a moment, Harry was afraid they were faked. His pride was soothed by the breathy moans and wordless mumblings that spilled from Draco’s lips. Draco had never faked or postured in moments of intimacy. Either that or he was really, really good at it. Choosing the less scary prospect, Harry let his pride be soothed, and sucked firmly on the nipple between his teeth. Draco twitched as his chest rose and fell with panting breaths.

Finally putting the strawberry in his mouth and licking the remaining juice off Draco’s chest, Harry sat up to look at Draco’s face. He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he took in the flushed cheeks, open mouth and closed eyes, and beautifully dishevelled hair where Draco had been tugging at it.

‘I had no idea you liked fruit so much,’ Harry said quietly. Draco chuckled. There was a feral edge to the sound. He opened his eyes just as Harry lay down half on top of him and half beside him.

‘Your turn to take off your shirt,’ Draco said. Without question, Harry placed his knees at either side of Draco’s waist and shrugged off his jacket. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, disrupting his glasses in the process. Draco propped himself up on his elbows and watched with lidded eyes as Harry settled his weight on his lap. Harry realized he had never actually taken his shirt off in front of Draco before. He didn’t feel overly self-conscious, but he squirmed slightly as Draco’s darkened eyes raked up his body, from his denim-clad legs to his face and his mussed black hair.

‘Yep,’ Draco said, popping the “p” and licking his lips. ‘We are definitely having picnics more often.’

Harry laughed and smiled as Draco reached up to stroke his chest, from his collarbone down to his waist. Without warning he sat up, forcing Harry to rock into his lap and throw his arms around Draco’s shoulders so he didn’t fall backwards. Harry shivered as Draco’s hand continued to explore his chest, alternately pinching and rubbing his skin until he reached Harry’s belt, and began to undo it without further hesitation.

Anticipation flooded through Harry’s veins, setting every nerve alight. Before long, Draco had him totally naked and lying on his back on a makeshift nest of discarded clothing. There was nothing stopping them now.

‘There is no-one alive who can say Quidditch hasn’t served you well,’ Draco said, as he dwelled over Harry’s thighs, kissing and licking them, deliberately avoiding the place where his attention was most desperately wanted. Harry wondered why he had ever been afraid. Surrendering his body to Draco was the easiest thing he had done in years.

He felt a hot breath ghost over his dick and his legs tensed and became restless in frustrated anticipation.

The universe screeched to a halt as the door swung open, and the terrible sound of ceased footsteps hit Harry like a brick to the balls. Draco stopped what he was doing instantly, and Harry sat bolt upright, almost head-butting Draco’s nose in the process.

A white-faced, frozen Flitwick stood in the doorway, all three foot four of him, mouth opening and closing, collapsible stool fallen to the floor.

‘We’re busy,’ Draco finally said. It sounded more like a warning than a badly-phrased apology. Flitwick looked quickly at the desk, then back at the boys.

‘Eh-hem ... I have something I need to ... left it on ... I’ll be right out of your hair in a moment ...’ he stammered, quickly gathering up the stool and racing to the desk. Harry didn’t think he’d wilted so fast in his entire life. He covered his face with his hands, drawing up his legs in a desperate bid to hide what the professor had already seen.

Flitwick was out of the room with a small stack in his hands faster than he’d arrived, and Draco resumed nuzzling Harry’s inner thigh before the door slammed shut, as if nothing at all had happened.

‘The moment’s gone,’ Harry said, and he despaired to know it was true. Flitwick’s face was still too fresh in his mind for him to be able to enjoy Draco’s attention. He could still feel his face burning.

‘It absolutely is not,’ Draco said, persistently abusing Harry’s abdomen. ‘We just momentarily lost it under the sofa.’

‘Another time, Draco, _please_ ,’ Harry whined, trying to wriggle out of Draco’s grasp. ‘Preferably in a more secluded place.’

Draco groaned in annoyance. ‘But I want you _right now_ ,’ he complained petulantly. ‘I’m not used to being denied things. My willpower will crumble and I’ll end up jumping you in the middle of the corridor. What are the chances that that will happen twice in the same day? Really?’

Harry irritably pushed away Draco’s head and searched for his boxer-briefs. He managed to get half-dressed before Draco pounced on him again. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he couldn’t help but laugh as Draco took the crotch of Harry’s pants in his teeth and tried to yank them back down again.

‘Draco, stop it!’ Harry said, attempted seriousness breaking under the hilarity of the moment as Draco ripped his trousers down his legs and threw them to the other end of the room. Harry managed to salvage his underwear, but only in time to give Draco the opportunity to produce his wand from the pocket of his own unzipped jeans.

Draco cast a wordless charm, and Harry’s wrists were invisibly restrained above his head. His hips were pinned in place, barely able to lift off the floor. He tried to kick Draco’s wand from his hand, but his feet were glued to the floor as well, just far enough apart that he couldn’t manoeuvre his knees enough to do any damage with them.

‘I mean it, Draco,’ Harry said, but the authority was drained from his voice by his prone position. Draco’s breathing was heavy enough that Harry could feel it on his midriff.

‘Forgive me,’ Draco said, and his voice was huskier than Harry had ever heard it, ‘but I can’t. It might not exactly be the perfect moment any more, but don’t worry. You’ll be demanding me not to stop soon.’

Lowering his head and ignoring Harry’s protests, Draco went back to teasing Harry’s inner thighs. Harry was walking a fine line between surrendering altogether, and turning Draco off his goal by wailing loudly to alert possible passers-by. As if he could read Harry’s mind, Draco said:

‘I cast a silencing charm on the door and walls. We won’t be interrupted again.’

Sliding his hands up the backs of Harry thighs, Draco gave Harry’s arse a squeeze before tracing a finger between his cheeks. Harry let his head drop back. If he continued to watch Draco, he would give in without another second’s hesitation. But he had told Draco no. And he needed to know that Draco understood the word. Talking about it could come later.

‘You’re not really going to force this on me, are you?’ Harry asked, desperation filling his voice as he threw in his last-ditch attempt at composure.

It didn’t hit Harry that Draco had stopped until a few seconds passed without further molestation. Experimentally, Harry wiggled his elbow, and realized that his arms were free. Pulling his knees together, he felt the binding charm on his lower half was lifted as well. He sat up and felt the blood rush to his head.

He looked at Draco. He had retreated until the forgotten bag of food was between them. The expression on his face was unreadable. It seemed so sudden and out-of-place, given what they had just been doing. It felt wrong. Harry looked behind himself at the door, just in case someone had walked in again, but they were still alone. Draco’s expression did not shift. He was looking at the floor.

Abruptly, Draco stood and went to the other end of the classroom and picked up Harry’s trousers. When he returned he handed them to Harry wordlessly.

Harry didn’t know whether “thankyou” was appropriate. The air had become bizarrely tense. It was hard to believe what was happening barely a minute ago.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked instead, and nearly shivered when Draco’s eyes met his. They had gone from dark and lusty to wide chalky blue and his lips were no longer parted, but thin and tightly pressed together. He received no reply to his question, until Draco had picked up and started buttoning his own shirt.

‘Sorry,’ Draco said, and his tone may have sounded clipped, if it wasn’t for the tell-tale shakiness of his breath.

‘It’s okay,’ Harry said uneasily. It had all gone pear-shaped. He hadn’t really been so tough on Draco, had he? It wasn’t as though he didn’t want him. He ran through reasons in his mind that Draco might suddenly be so ... that was the problem, Harry supposed. He couldn’t tell how Draco was feeling. But it was obviously a strong feeling, and that made it all the more unnerving.

They dressed in silence, barely touching except t hand each other items of clothing. While Draco was pulling on his jacket, Harry worked up the courage to ask.

‘Why did you stop?’

Draco glanced at him as he bent to pick up the bag of treats and jammed his other hand in his pocket.

‘You told me to.’

‘That didn’t work the first few times,’ Harry pointed out. Draco shrugged, and Harry noted a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

‘Why, really?’ Harry asked, stepping forward and picking up their stash of sweets. Tentatively, he picked out the last strawberry and nibbled on it, hoping to recapture some of their earlier intimacy. Draco looked away sharply and cleared his throat.

‘Next time, maybe,’ he said. Harry took his arm as they left the room and leaned up, offering him the other end of the strawberry. Hesitantly, Draco leaned in. He stared intently at Harry as he gently bit off the end of the fruit sticking from between Harry’s lips.

‘I love you,’ he whispered, and kissed Harry lightly, chastely, before pulling away and hurrying alone down the corridor.

Confused and deeply unsettled, Harry returned to Gryffindor tower, leaving the remaining food for the few cats. His appetite was gone, along with a small chunk of his confidence that, no matter what, the passion between Draco and himself could not be touched.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the late update!! School and work have teamed up to kick my ass.

**.HD.**

It was four weeks until the holidays and Harry was nervous. It had been several days since the incident and Draco had been weirdly distant since. He had maintained his aloof arrogance and subtle affection, but the heat Harry remembered from past touches had reeled in. Draco was keeping a deliberate distance. Nothing had even been said about the visit to Malfoy Manor, even though the days were counting down, and Harry was beginning to wonder if it was still on.

Harry began thinking back in an effort to figure out what may have happened. Definitely in the charms classroom. He hadn’t kicked Draco anywhere painful, nor did he think he’d said anything hurtful. With Draco being uncooperatively quiet about the whole thing, Harry’s nervousness only increased.

‘Stop brushing it off,’ he demanded, cornering Draco on a Monday. There was half an hour between classes, and the weekend had been wasted on homework and disappointingly tame kissing sessions. Draco wasn’t even indulging in neck-nuzzling any more, and Harry had gotten used to a constant row of hickeys. He missed it. ‘Something happened, and until you tell me what it is, I’m not letting up.’

‘Nothinghappened,’ Draco insisted between gritted teeth. ‘Drop it.’

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, inching his glasses down in the process. ‘That’s kind of the problem,’ he said, losing patience. ‘Nothing is happening. You don’t ... you know ... dammit, Draco, I _want_ you,’ Harry confessed. ‘We’ve barely done anything for days. I just want to know why.’

It was Draco’s turn to look exasperated. ‘Harry, please,’ he implored, ‘take a hint. I don’t want to talk about it.’

They didn’t talk at all for the rest of the day.

If this was a regular fight with Ron, Harry could just feel irritated. He would wait for Ron to apologize, and sulk in the meantime. But this was his first “situation” with Draco, and he didn’t know how to feel except irrationally worried. He was hurt that Draco was hiding something from him. He was as confused as when he first realized he had feelings for his long-term enemy. Most of all, he just wished things could go back to the way they were, seconds before Draco spelled Harry to the floor, so he could see that totally unrestrained, sensual, adoring look on his lover’s face again.

 

**.NB.**

‘No, you see, this is where practical knowledge comes in handy,’ Neville said frankly. ‘If you train a tree into a certain shape, ah, take a cherry tree for instance ...’ he said, pulling an imaginary branch down until it was horizontal, ‘it’ll bear more fruit.’

‘And how is that supposed to work?’ Blaise asked, crossing his arms.

‘Sap flow,’ Neville said simply, as though it were obvious.

Blaise had never had an interest in anything that required work or enthusiasm unless it was immoral, but Neville’s passion for gardening was tragically contagious, and if nothing else, he was amusing to watch. And his advice, regrettably, was the reason Blaise was getting better marks in Herbology (not that he was at liberty to admit it, due to his Slytherin honour).

‘No, you see, you don’t want to place these next to the mandrakes,’ Neville said with a sense of urgency, pulling Blaise’s blueprints straight from his hands. ‘They’re shallow-rooted. If they have to compete with a sentient plant for water or nutrients, they’d never survive into maturity.’

Blaise and Neville, despite being on different timetables, had been dumped with the same assignment. Since they were spending a peculiar amount of time in the library together, they decided to bounce ideas off each other. Being sixth year Herbology students, they were both expected to be able to design a greenhouse layout that would be both productive and practical, and Neville had leapt into the assignment with delight while Blaise was trudging through the work, dragging his feet and taking the easy route and forsaking his pride for just long enough to let Neville do as much of the real work as possible without calling it “help”.

‘On that note, you could put them next to those trees I was talking about before, because their roots don’t start spreading outward until they’re about seven or eight inches down, so the plants wouldn’t interfere with each other,’ Neville mused aloud, tapping the ink-stained end of his quill against his lower lip absently, staring at Blaise’s already repeatedly-revised blueprints.

Blaise sighed and gazed out the window. He should be irritated by now. The fact that he wasn’t irritated disturbed him. Neville was irritating. Wasn’t he?

‘Something wrong?’ Neville asked, pausing in his mumbled litany on root depth.

‘Not quite,’ Blaise said. At a loss for anything else to say, he offered, ‘I’ll pay you to do my assignment for me.’

Neville was aghast, Merlin only knew why. ‘How could I? Besides, Professor Sprout is too familiar with my work. She’d know, and we’d both get in trouble.’

‘Were you always such a kissass, Longbottom?’ Blaise asked conversationally, by way of reply. Neville got up, handed Blaise his blueprint, and wandered off in a huff after a curt “good afternoon”.

Blaise felt the tiniest bit mean. That was nothing new. What was new was the regret that accompanied it.

 

**.HD.**

‘Are you bored with me?’ Harry asked. It was three weeks until the holidays. Draco’s face shot up from the book it had been buried in.

‘What? No. Don’t be stupid.’

‘I just want to know why you’re keeping me at arm’s length,’ Harry muttered. Within the past week and few days, the steady stream of kisses and nuzzling and hanky-panky had all but run dry. Draco wasn’t just being tame anymore. He was barely touching Harry at all. Harry had given him ample opportunity. He had engineered circumstances so they could be alone together at least twice a week, for hours at a time. Sometimes they just did homework together, occasionally distracting each other with light taunting or a hand on a knee or nosy input. But the kissing and light petting sessions that lasted up to half an hour at a time were becoming a thing of the past. It felt unerringly like his interest in Harry’s body had dissipated.

‘What makes you think I’m bored with you?’ Draco asked.

The Room seemed to agree with Harry’s unspoken desires, and the same bed that had appeared when Harry first said “I love you” existed pointedly in the middle of the circular room. Draco had made a beeline for the armchair by the fire instead and Harry had followed, seating himself on the rug by the fire.

‘I’ll just point to the empty bed, shall I?’ Harry hinted heavily.

‘What about the empty bed?’ Draco challenged.

‘We’re not in it.’

‘Maybe I don’t need constant foreplay in order to be happy in a relationship.’

‘Don’t use that on me. You used to touch me every chance you got.’

‘Yeah, well. Now I’m not.’

‘Why?’

‘You sound very needy right now.’

Harry growled in frustration. ‘Do you understand at all what I’m getting at?’

‘Not really, no,’ Draco retorted. ‘Unless what you mean is that you can’t enjoy my company unless you’re getting off.’

Harry snapped. ‘I was _willing_ to leave it if you’d just tell me outright why you’ve gone cold. How would you feel if I suddenly stopped being randy and was obviously hiding something from you?’

The silence following the words spoken out loud made a terrible light bulb go off in Harry’s head.

Hermione had mentioned something like this once before, when making an observation about Lavender’s boy-hopping tendencies. It was a well-known signal to her boyfriends, both ex and present. What if the reason Draco no longer needed to touch Harry all the time, was because he was getting his rocks off somewhere else?

‘Alright. So you want more physical affection,’ Draco said, with some small difficulty. ‘Then _show_ more physical affection. I don’t want to feel like I’m doing all the work. I was just ... giving you opportunities to initiate. Giving you space to pick and choose when we touch.’

‘Bullshit,’ Harry spat. Draco had the good grace to look taken aback before narrowing his eyes.

‘Then by all means, tell me how to fix this imaginary problem my imaginary behaviour has instigated,’ Draco growled.

‘You know exactly what,’ Harry said, grasping the front of Draco’s school shirt and dragging him out of the armchair. Their bodies clashed and Harry was overcome with the unexpected heat of Draco’s lips and clothes, moreso by the sudden ferocity with which Draco tore Harry’s shirt open (literally – buttons went flying) and latched onto his neck as his hands roamed greedily all over his lover’s torso. He kept Harry pinned to him as he whipped off his tie and wrenched the sleeves down Harry’s wiry arms, backing him into the wall before sinking to his knees, nipping viciously at the exposed skin bared before him. Harry found a familiar nervous anticipation take over as Draco’s hands deftly dealt with the buckle of his belt.

Harry let his head fall back onto the wall, and stroked Draco’s head as he let the blonde push his legs further apart.

There was a sudden break in the unexpectedly aggressive administrations, and Harry felt his spirits sink a little before he braved a look down at his lover. A depressingly familiar expression was present on Draco’s face as he rose to his feet and fingered the beltline of Harry’s jeans.

‘Not like this,’ Draco said quietly. ‘I know you want it, but not ... not because we fought.’

‘Then when?’ Harry asked, wondering how the fuck Draco was going to justify leaving him hard in such circumstances. Draco didn’t answer. Exasperated and fed up, Harry pushed past Draco, picked up his shirt and left the Room. He’d deal with his hard-on after he dealt with his unreasonably torrential feeling of rejection.

 

**.NB.**

‘Do you know if Malfoy did something to Harry?’ was the first thing Neville said to Blaise on Sunday morning. They took their usual table in the library and Blaise seemed more relaxed than he usually was. Neville supposed it was the assurance that hardly anyone else was wasting their Sunday morning in the library, so they had the space to themselves and Blaise wasn’t likely to be seen spending time in his presence.

‘Pfft. He wouldn’t have the heart,’ Blaise responded half-heartedly. ‘All the energy and happiness he gets these days is from being with Potter. The rest of the time ... classes, plus still having to sleep in the Slytherin dorms, quite frankly he has nothing else to look forward to.’

‘Oh ... okay,’ Neville accepted the answer hesitantly. All he knew was that something was going off between Harry and Malfoy, and neither of them were talking about it. It was obvious enough now that it had become the subject and arrowhead of many of the routine insults being thrown their way. It may not have bothered Neville so much if he hadn’t come to think of himself as Harry’s primary guy friend.

Ron, though he hadn’t exactly joined in the vocally anti-Potter-Malfoy bullying, still wasn’t making life easy. Neville suspected Ron’s persistent frigid silence was bordering on cattiness. What was he expecting? For Harry to leave Malfoy apologize to his best friend for choosing another guy over him?

‘Longbottom?’ The sound of his name being called brought Neville out of his sulky thoughts, and he looked up in an instant to Blaise, who was looking at him with a measure of concentration and interest.

‘Daydreaming?’ Blaise asked.

‘No,’ Neville replied. ‘Just worrying about Harry.’

Blaise snorted, and went back to his book, rearranging his feet on the table. ‘You and everyone else.’

‘I mean I’m worried about whether or not it’ll work out. Him and Malfoy, I mean. And I’m worried about how everyone’s treating them. It’s not fair.’

‘You should have been put in Hufflepuff.’

‘I mean it.’

‘Exactly why you should have been put in Hufflepuff.’

Neville, upon saying his next sentence, immediately wished he hadn’t. ‘Do you believe in true love?’

The stillness that lasted for several minutes felt like karmic punishment. Neville had never felt so embarrassed about asking a question in his life.

‘No,’ Blaise answered eventually.

Neville knew that it was the answer he had expected. But not in that tone of voice. He would have expected it in a scoff, or a snarl even. But Blaise didn’t sound like Blaise when he said “no.” He sounded somehow muted. And he didn’t say anything else.

They sat in semi-comfortable silence after that, and Neville once again sank into a reverie of thoughts, this time about Blaise, and why he didn’t believe in true love. And why that bothered him so very, very much.


	13. Chapter 13

**.HD.**

_‘I’ve been putting this off for too long,’ Draco said quietly. With his mouth against Harry’s ear it seemed like the whisper filled the whole room in a sensuous echo._

_A daring pair of hands reached down to stroke Harry’s lower back, and if the gesture didn’t imply so much, it probably would have been ticklish. The warmth of Draco’s gentle breathing on his ear and his fingertips seeking skin beneath his untucked shirt was making Harry’s knees weak._

_The candles lighting the room, the scent of fresh air from the open window ... the setting was perfect. Draco was perfect. The world was at ease. Harry turned his face to encourage a kiss, but suddenly, with no reason at all, he was alone. His untucked shirt was gone, his jeans were gone, and he was naked, and the breeze from the open window was cold, and the candles were out, leaving the room bereft of all comfort. Harry was bewildered and concerned, and achingly alone._

Harry’s eyes snapped open. It took him a moment to rise out of the dream, like trying to swim to the surface of a thick bog. But soon he was fully awake, and some comfort came from the sensation of realizing a horrible dream was only a dream. And yet, most unsettling of all was the familiarity of the feeling. He had felt that alone when Draco was sitting right next to him.

He kept remembering that conversation he had overheard some of the girls having, about what Lavender did when she got bored with her boyfriend. Cheat, then when her boyfriend was worked into a jealous, suspicious frenzy, use his behaviour as an excuse to leave with a clean face.

But he couldn’t suspect Draco of doing anything like that. Sure, his neurotic Slytherin was acting dismissive, evasive even, but he couldn’t forget the look in Draco’s eyes when he had said “I love you”, when he had kissed him in front of the school, when they sat alone facing the lake, just the two of them defying their whole social circles just to be together. Harry could not dismiss the devotion which had led Draco to disobey the direct orders of the most dangerous evil wizard on the planet. Harry couldn’t believe that those feelings had dissolved so soon into disinterest. He didn’t want to believe it.

He kept trying to trace back to the specific moment when the distance had begun to grow. He had a feeling that it was horribly obvious, but it eluded him consistently.

Working up the courage to confront the issue, Harry cornered Draco after an alienating and strained potions class, and ushered him into a disused corridor.

‘You have a free class before history of magic, don’t you?’ he said by way of greeting (they hadn’t even spoken in class).

‘Yes,’ Draco said. ‘But we don’t have to spend every second of the day together.’

The statement threw Harry for a moment. He stood in silence, unsure of what to say. The hasty response felt like a slap to the face. He realized that he had assumed that they would spend their free time together, but now that he thought about it, that would probably feel smothering to someone who had grown up an only child with no close relationships.

‘True,’ he said, hoping to sound casual, but inwardly cringing. He hoped his feelings of hurt weren’t too obvious. ‘Okay. I’ll, uh. I have some studying to do anyway. I’ll guess, I’ll see you in Transfig.’

He turned around and walked away without looking too closely at Draco’s expression, not wanting to see the dismissal or, Merlin forbid, exasperation. He was all too conscious of the motion of putting one foot in front of the other. Draco didn’t call him back or stop him.

Harry paused after rounding a corner. Lavender once again came to mind. Hypothetically, if Draco _was_ seeing someone else (hypothetically), it would have to be in between classes when he wasn’t likely to be disturbed, right? Hypothetically?

Harry silently turned back and looked discreetly around the corner.

Sure enough, Draco was standing with his back to the wall. Waiting for someone.

Harry was utterly unprepared for what he saw next. Rounding the corner at the other end of the hallway, a flash of unmistakeable red hair appeared.

‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ Ginny said frankly, and Draco crossed his arms.

‘I wasn’t planning to. Your baby happened to drag me aside on the pretence of spending a free period together and I’m bored of actively avoiding you.’

‘I didn’t say anything to Harry,’ Ginny replied sharply. So she had set up a meeting with Draco behind his back. So clearly Draco hadn’t been planning anything disloyal. Harry was still too worked up to feel annoyed about Draco referring to him as Ginny’s “baby”.

‘So what is it?’ Draco asked tiredly. ‘Don’t take too long.’

Ginny crossed her arms and straightened her back. Even though she was a clear foot shorter than Draco, she may as well have been taller, for all the imposing grace she possessed.

‘What the hell is going on between you and Harry?’

Draco looked lost for a moment. His blank face eventually gave way to a self-satisfied smirk, one Harry hadn’t seen in months.

‘I thought you all knew by now. You see, when two boys love each other very much ...’

‘You know bloody well what I mean,’ Ginny interrupted bitterly. ‘What have you gone and done? Harry’s all tied up in knots.’

Harry wanted to groan, and only the thought of being discovered stopped him. He felt only mildly guilty for eavesdropping, but a burning curiosity made him stay. He was torn between appreciating Ginny’s gesture and wishing she’d drop it.

Draco covered his face in one hand in a gesture of frustration. ‘What is it with you nosy Gryffindors? Just the other day, Blaise was teasing me about watchdog Longbottom and how he was concerned on Harry’s behalf because I’m being a bad boyfriend by not wearing a fucking leash. Firstly, Harry is a big boy who can take care of himself, and secondly, you can bloody well tell him that, and tell him to stop whining about me behind my back.’

Harry bristled. So that was it. He was being a whiny little bitch, was he? The anger was fuelled in part by an underlying fear that his gentle pushing had resulted in this – he couldn’t just trust Draco when he said that being alone with Harry was enough, he couldn’t just trust that Draco didn’t need physical affection in order to feel intimacy. He had been too clingy.

‘Harry hasn’t said a word. That’s how we know. And it doesn’t take a genius to see that you may as well be ignoring him altogether. When we do see you two, you barely even speak to him.’

_Had it gotten that bad?_

‘And when you’re in classes together, Neville says you don’t even look at him.’

_Was that true?_

‘Well maybe he’s just lost my interest,’ Draco said blithely. ‘Maybe I just don’t feel the same as I used to. I admit it’s been exciting, but he’s not really my type. Like you said. It doesn’t take a genius to see it.’

Harry’s stomach dropped. He felt like he’d been doused with water. He felt sick.

The words had come out of Draco’s mouth. He had heard them. He had heard them spoken out loud. There was no conjecture. No other interpretation.

Turning and walking away from the corridor, away from the dungeons, Harry may have heard a hex been fired, but he couldn’t be sure. He was sluggish and stunned and faint. The walls around him seemed closer and harder, the light harshly bright, the air chill and crisp. His heart was beating so hard it hurt. And when he reached the lonely staircase up to the owlery, where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed at this time of day, he sat down, put his hands on his knees, and tried desperately to slow his breathing.

And there, quiet and cold and solitary, the world slowly fell apart.

 

**.NB.**

‘What time is it?’ Neville asked with some concern, as he and Blaise sat in their usual spot in the library, hidden by books and walls.

‘Late afternoon. Check the clock yourself, I’m busy,’ Blaise said from behind his novel. Neville wasn’t daring enough to ask what it was about, given the morbid black and red cover.

‘Last class would have been about an hour ago,’ Neville said to himself. Blaise rubbed a hand over his face and yawned. ‘An hour? How long have we been sitting here?’

Neville noted with puzzled satisfaction that Blaise had used the word “we”. He usually only referred to himself, or to Neville when he was in a generous mood. It occurred to Neville that that may have been the very first time Blaise said “we”.

The real puzzle was why that was so pleasing.

‘It must be about an hour and a half. You came in when I was doing my charms homework, so it must be about that.’

‘Now why would I waste an hour sitting here and reading, when I could be reading in the comfort of my own house, with a plate of cherries and a first year to spit the pips at?’ Blaise asked, seeming genuinely puzzled but good-humoured all the same. Neville risked a cheeky grin. ‘Maybe sitting here with me is more fun.’

‘Oh, yes. Oodles,’ Blaise drawled, dripping sarcasm. But he didn’t move. He opened the page where he had closed it on his finger and kept reading, and Neville, who liked having Blaise there and didn’t want to bother him into leaving, went back to his homework.

 

**.HD.**

It must have been late when Harry arrived in front of the fat lady’s portrait, because the sky was darkening and the hallways were empty enough to easily avoid stragglers. He couldn’t stop himself from blinking. His eyes felt dry from crying. He dreaded meeting anyone in the common room, though of course that was where they’d all be. He must look a right mess. A proper girly poof, all red-eyed from bawling over his boyfriend.

But really, what did he expect? Draco was used to the best. He was raised on riches. Fuck the silver spoon, he probably had a platinum cutlery set all to himself from the moment he was born. Harry was no-one special. He had known that all along. Draco was the only person, really, who had never been impressed by Harry’s reputation. He saw Harry for what he really was. Just a boy. It was probably a novelty, he realized, dating the Chosen One. Like Draco had said once before, he was already socially doomed after all he had gone through with the Dark Lord. School bullying was probably a mosquito bite in comparison. And there were so many good reasons, better reasons, for turning to the side of good. Harry was just being ignorantly big-headed by believing that Draco did it out of star-crossed love.

Harry began to see every beautiful, meaningful moment in a new light. He must have looked like such a simple idiot, getting all doe-eyed and thinking he had found someone who loved him just as he was, not as the Chosen One, just as Harry. Someone who didn’t care about the rest of the world so long as they could be together.

He tried to remember why he and Draco had gotten together in the first place, because surely at least that was real. But even that moment had been basically set up and arranged by Snape and initiated by Harry himself with that first kiss. He had practically thrown himself into Draco’s arms. Draco had probably been tolerating him on the basis that he got the scandalous glamour of being Harry fucking Potter’s gay boyfriend. That was why all the passion, the touching, had gone so quickly. Harry just wasn’t good at it. He had no practice. And Draco had probably had better.

Draco didn’t want anything to do with Harry’s friends, which must have been a glaring sign if ever there was one. Harry’s friends made up a significant part of who he was.

And because of his stupidity, his puppy-love-blinded eyes, he had lost Ron, his closest, most loyal friend. He had thrown Hermione for a loop and almost lost her too. And she had known what was going on all along right from the beginning, had guessed that Draco’s feelings were too staged, too Mills & Boon to be authentic. He had pretty much betrayed Ginny. She was good, and kind, and brave. She had stuck by him and defended him when he was at his lowest, and he still turned her aside for a leggy blonde jerk.

He stared at the portrait, which stared back pityingly, and spoke the password in a dull and thick voice. He shuffled in, ducking into the dormitory as quickly as he could without being noticed. He had to be alone tonight.

He drew the curtains around his bed and curled up. _That’s right, wuss_ , he thought to himself. _Mope and sulk. That’s what you do when things get painful. That’s what six years in Hogwarts has taught you._

_But what am I supposed to fight when there’s nothing physical attacking me? What do I do when there’s no target and no enemy, no physical challenge with a reward at the end to fight for? What with I do when the enemy is hiding in my ribcage?!_

Harry pressed his face stubbornly into the pillow and willed all thought to vanish. He just wanted to sleep for a hundred years until he could drift into the ether, brainless, heartless, bodyless, careless, nothing more to say or do.

Harry went to sleep.

 

**.NB.**

Neville didn’t know whether or not to disturb Harry. Truth be told, much as he badly wanted to support his friend, he didn’t know what to say. Harry wouldn’t confide in him, that much he instinctively knew. But something had obviously gone terribly wrong. He didn’t think the puffy-eyed and washed-out Harry had even seen him sitting up in bed before he slumped off to his own, dragging the red drapes across to hide on his mattress.

What had Malfoy done? It must have been Malfoy. Only that hostile blonde bastard could affect Harry so much, even at all, these days. Even Ron’s absence from Harry’s life had pretty much become normalcy, and nothing Ron could say would drive Harry to tears. Hermione and Luna were on good terms with him, though they were in their own dorms and houses respectively and wouldn’t have seen Harry’s hasty, flustered entrance. Ginny was currently Harry’s closest friend and although she could be coarse, she’d never be cruel enough to drive Harry to a meltdown. No, it was definitely Malfoy’s fault.

Feeling a little cowardly, Neville lay back, shutting the book on his lap and staring at the black and red cover. He’d thought Harry and Draco were the living proof that love conquered all, even long-lived prejudice, even petty hate. Was he wrong? Was he a hopeless romantic and a dreamer? If he was, then that definitely didn’t bode well for whatever it was he was starting to feel toward a certain other Slytherin prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco need to find less nosy friends. I feel like Ginny and Snape have their own secret supper club aimed at invading Harry and Draco’s personal lives.
> 
> I can’t even write Harry and Draco in a healthy relationship when I try my hardest. Drarry, for me, is less “I will go down with this ship” and more “I will go down with this failboat”.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So i'm back! The last chapter and this one needed to be posted together. I couldn't leave that shit like that.
> 
> Oh and sorry for vanishing over October and November. I had final assessment, and then nanowrimo, and then one housemate was moving out and then a new one moved in and ugh.

**.HD.**

It was all Harry could do to force himself out of bed in the morning, but a glance at his bedside clock told him that he was already two minutes late for his first class. It wasn’t one that he shared with Draco, but at least that gave him space to think of what to do. The fact that Draco hadn’t broken it off clearly meant he was waiting for Harry to get fed up and do it himself. In order to avoid further pain, that was what Harry would have to do. The entire past month and a half had become a rotted, festering wound upon a limb that he would simply have to amputate and learn to live without.

But still, an annoying, nagging hope in the pathetically optimistic corner of his heart told him _no, it isn’t right, Draco still cares. He must_.

But reality dictated that he should do the practical thing. _Cut it off. Don’t leave it too long or you’ll never be able to do it_.

Still, the thought drove the knife only deeper into his heart, and he trudged from first class to second, watching the approach of third class, Transfiguration, with dread. When he and Draco were next alone, he had to do it. He had to tell Draco in Transfiguration that they needed to talk as soon as they had some time to spare away from the eyes and ears of the rest of the school.

Draco would probably think it was an emotional, we-need-to-talk-about-you-neglecting-me thing, Harry though sulkily. But he had to do it. This wasn’t something he could write on a note and send by owl.

The moment he entered the classroom and saw Draco already sitting at the front table, his whole body lit up like an electric wire. He had no idea how to broach the subject. Just say “we need to talk”? That was too formulaic and twee. “I need to talk to you after class/at lunch”? That was better, he supposed, but saying it would still be hard. It wasn’t the words, but what they would lead to, what he was scared of. _He_ was the one dumping _Draco_. He had to remember that. He was the one dumping Draco. It terrified him. It didn’t empower him or make him feel in control at all. It just drove the knife in harder, and twisted.

He took his seat next to Draco, who looked over as soon as he noticed Harry settling himself down a neat, measured distance away; not far enough to draw attention, not close enough to touch discreetly. Nonetheless, Draco extended the silent greeting they had grown accustomed to using as natural and reflexive as breathing – a simple brush of fingers against fingers, as if to _say I’m still here, and so are you_. That action made Harry feel sick. He tucked his hands into his pockets. Draco raised an eyebrow, then turned to face the front as if nothing had happened.

Neither of spoke as McGonagall gave the class instructions and steered the rhythm of the class into a steady gallop of question, answer, instruction, demonstration, question, answer, so on.

It was halfway through and Harry needed the first step over with. He leaned over as if to quietly comment, discreet as possible, and whispered, ‘Meet me in the astronomy tower at lunch.’

‘Don’t you ever get tired of that place?’ Draco replied with a brief crinkle of his nose. Harry violently bit back a huff, and replied with unintended acidity, ‘Sorry to be _whiny_ about it, but this is important. Meet me there or not, your choice.’

He retreated back into his own space and didn’t look up again for the rest of the class, though he could have sworn he felt Draco’s eyes boring through the side of his head.

 

**.NB.**

‘I’m top of the class!’ Neville declared proudly and with gusto, shoving his marked assignment under Blaise’s nose.

‘Hello to you too,’ Blaise responded unaffectedly, tossing the assignment onto the table after giving it a cursory glance.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I’m top of Herbology class this year. Hermione Granger, that’s _Hermione,_ is in second. I beat Hermione Granger in a subject! She’s not as passionate about it all as I am, but still! I’m top of the class! Sprout said so.’

‘Settle down, will you? Were in a library,’ Blaise replied, jerking Neville down onto a chair by the hem of his robe. ‘If you’re going to gush self-praise, do it quietly.’

‘Aren’t you going to pretend to be happy for me? Even mockingly?’ Neville asked, suddenly crestfallen. ‘I know we’re not exactly friends, but would it kill you to look a little bit impressed? No-one else believes me yet.’

Blaise looked up from the heavy book on his lap and scrutinized Neville. Why did the twot care so much about how a Slytherin regarded him? He must have gone batty if Blaise’s personal character judgement held any importance. Still, it felt good to learn for certain that he could build Neville up and knock him down with but the use of simple words.

‘Are you expecting me to leap up out of my chair in shock? Because that isn’t happening,’ Blaise said bluntly.

‘You ... aren’t surprised?’

‘No.’

‘That I made top of a class?’

‘Of Herbology. Herbology isn’t a class, it’s gardening under supervision. But not, I’m not surprised, because if anyone knows how to play in the dirt, it’s you.’

‘So, you mean, I have a green thumb? A talent?’

‘For playing in the dirt, yes.’

‘But you’re not surprised that I topped the class? You mean it?’

‘Yes, I mean it. Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Yes, alright, you’re smart. You’ve a very clever boy. Congratulations.’

And somehow, with surprise, he realized that he did mean it. And it didn’t bother him as much as it should have. Neville’s puppy eyes radiated joy and his grin lit up the room better than the scarce light afforded by the narrow window half-covered by a stack of large, leather-bound books. And Blaise liked that he could cause that. That he could make Neville smile like that, genuinely, with pride and self-confidence.

That stupid grin just wouldn’t go away. Blaise found himself looking up every now and again from his book, just to look at it, that stupid, funny little grin. He couldn’t understand how anyone could be so chuffed about where they scored in a class, even if it was on top. But he had to admit, he was impressed. He hadn’t, in truth, been surprised, but he was impressed. Neville’s index-like knowledge of plants, their uses, their origins, their habitats, and everything else under the sun, things Blaise had never even considered. He found himself wishing that he could feel so passionate about something.

 

**.HD.**

Harry thought for a moment that Draco may not show up. He fantasized about putting off the confrontation for another day, but Draco arrived only a few minutes late, looking cautiously at Harry as though he had grown rows of shark teeth and was just waiting to bite.

They settled to lean against the railing, about a yard of space between them. At first there was only silence.

‘So what was all that about in Tranfig?’ Draco asked. The words were heavy with something obscure and mildly threatening. Harry had been wondering all day how to word the conversation, how to end it, but with Draco finally there beside him, he lost the ability to think.

‘This is really hard to do. I just want you to know that.’ There was nothing else he could say to open the subject. Nothing else as true. He was instantly overwhelmed with the desire not to cry again, but he was sure he would.

‘What is?’ Draco asked. His default careless manner was gone, and he looked genuinely affected. Harry took a deep breath. He was wearing two long-sleeved shirts and still felt freezing, like ice was filling his veins. He battled to the surface.

‘I just ... I know that ... this needs to end. Now. Before anyone gets hurt.’ _Before you rip my heart out_ , Harry thought to himself. He didn’t look up, but he felt the silence like a wet sheet draped over them both. He wished desperately that Draco would speak. It couldn’t end flat-out like that, in silence. Draco had other intentions, it seemed. He straightened his back, painfully slowly, and started to head to the stairs. Harry clenched his fists. _Not like this_.

‘Will you at least tell me something?’ he asked, turning as he did.

Draco spun on the spot to face Harry, eyes wide and face paler than usual. ‘Tell you something? _You_ tell _me_!’

Harry was put off balance, but it quickly turned to anger. ‘What’s there to tell? I know, I figured it out that you don’t actually want me, so if anyone’s not been telling the truth then it’s _you_. I’ve been honest about my feelings the whole time.’

‘Is this about not kissing you whenever you feel like it? Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a tiny bit?’ Draco spat back. Harry only felt angrier. How dare Draco even say that? He should be jumping for joy. He was free now, wasn’t he?

‘Or are you just used to getting all the attention you want when you want it? You may everybody else’s golden child, but that doesn’t mean I have to bend over whenever you snap your fingers,’ Draco continued, almost snarling.

Harry bristled and was struck with a desire to jinx Draco. But he wasn’t going to lose the battle in order to win the war.

‘It’s not about that and you bloody well know it,’ he said instead. ‘Don’t pretend you’re nottired of me. I’ve done all your hard work for you. You couldn’t be bothered making the moves on me, and you couldn’t be bothered breaking up with me either.’

‘I can’t believe you’re taking it this far! I’m just not in the mood lately, since when does that mean I’ve gotten bored of you? _How_ did that idea even get into your head?’

Harry caught a note of panic in Draco’s tone, and felt a grim satisfaction amidst his rage. Draco was caught out, and he knew it.

‘I suppose it doesn’t matter now. After all, how much harm can eavesdropping do to a record that already has neediness and attention-seeking and a hero complex on it, huh? How much worse can I get? You probably already think ...’

‘Now hang on a second ...’

‘ _Shut up_!’

Harry’s anger, barely held in check, exploded into full-blown rage, and all the isolated misery of the previous day hit him again like an avalanche. The situation was already above him and he couldn’t handle it. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

‘Just _stop it_. Just stop _pretending_. I don’t care if you think I’m over-emotional, and I don’t care if you think I’m self-absorbed. You lied to me. You don’t care about anyone except yourself. You’re a good actor up to a point, and it took me a while, but I heard what you said. I know that you don’t care about me. This is already tearing me to pieces, so please just let me end it here. Don’t make it worse. Just ... please don’t make it worse.’

Draco stood utterly speechless, staring and open-mothed near the stairs, hands still half-fisted at his sides. It took Harry a moment to feel the hot tears on his cheeks, and when he did, humiliation replaced his anger. He turned around and leaned over the balcony, turning his back on Draco for what he was sure, what he hoped, was the last time.

‘Harry ...’

‘Leave.’

There was nothing else to say. I was over. It was done. The imaginary bond was severed, and Harry was on his own. Alone. Two years of isolation stretched out like a desert horizon before him, with little more than an unimaginable fog beyond, and ...

... arms were wrapped tight around his middle. A face was being pressed into the back of his neck, a lean body against his spine, and he wanted so badly to grab those arms and hurl their owner down the stairs. He hated that they felt so familiar, so _good_ , but so dreadful.

‘Please listen to me. You can do what you like after that, you can dump me, but please, I’m begging you. Listen to me first. I promise I’ll tell you everything.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bahahahahaha psych


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the shit-tonne of time that has passed between the previous chapter and this one.
> 
> Long story short: new housemate was so hideously terrible and impossible to live with that I moved out. So that was stressy. Around this time I started dating somebody. Now i'm considering putting aside my Bachelor and starting a Cert IV at a separate institution, partly because i'm an idiot, and partly because of other reasons. So, stuff has been happening. Anyway.
> 
> Here we are, the long-awaited explanation for why Draco has been such an asshole!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:
> 
> Child abuse is a thing that is explored. If that is likely to make you feel distressed or uncomfortable, you may want to bypass this bit.

There was something in the way he had said  _Please. Please listen to me_ . He had repeated it when Harry didn’t reply, squeezing him around the middle, just light enough that Harry didn’t feel trapped.

They now sat facing each other, cross-legged on the ground. Harry couldn’t look up. He had dried the tears from his face as well as he could, but he still knew he probably still looked pink-faced and watery-eyed. He couldn’t stop sniffling or blinking. Much as he resented Draco, and was suspicious as to what his excuses would be, he was embarrassed for Draco to see his face like that.

Draco played with his fingernails, looking at Harry, at his messy hair, and his downturned face, and his hand-me-down clothes and fidgeting hands.

‘I don’t really know how to begin, but the Weaslet ... but my conversation with Ginny would probably be a good place to start.’

Harry guessed he had been kind of obvious about that, but too much else had been said for him to care that Draco knew about the eavesdropping.

‘I just want you to know, straight off, I didn’t mean what I told her. Not any of it. That probably sounds like a barefaced lie, but I’m being perfectly serious. She was just being so nosy and overprotective, like she was your gatekeeper or something, and I got annoyed. I wanted to derail her and wipe that smug mother hen look off her face. It was wrong, and it was impulsive and childish, and a stupid, bad, bad, bad idea. But I did it with the intention of hurting her, not you.’

Harry couldn’t bring himself to believe it quite yet. It was flimsy, but it was also consistent with Draco’s character. Or was that his heart making excuses?.

‘She hexed me, if it makes you feel better.’

Harry snorted. Draco’s hand moved as if to touch his knee, then paused and withdrew. The hollowness in the pit of Harry’s belly returned, and with it, the doubt.

‘I don’t suppose saying that I love you will help any, but it’s true. I love you, Harry. Even though I haven’t been saying it much.’

With that, Harry felt dangerously close to crying again. He fought down the urge with every ounce of strength he had. The struggle must have been noticeable, because Draco’s hand was on his knee before he realized it, without hesitation this time. Draco scooted closer.

‘I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I suddenly thought you didn’t love me anymore, and I don’t want to think about it, but that’s okay, because it isn’t true. You’re stuck with me whether it’s good for you or not, Potter,’ Draco said, making an attempt at sounding imperious, but Harry couldn’t even manage a false smile in response, and the imperiousness vanished as soon as it had appeared.

For some reason, it was as though he was ten years old again, no idea he was a wizard, no real bonds, no real friends, only distrust and rejection. He was the freak. He would never be close to anyone, or loved the way his cousin was loved, never treated with gentleness or kindness.

Deep within, he suspected he couldn’t really be wanted. He had spent too long never being able to fit in anywhere the way normal, happy children did. The one who just couldn’t be loved, because it was in his nature to be unloved. The mongrel on the corner. He wasn’t meant for anyone. The world’s hero and scapegoat. Anyone he got close to was cursed anyway.

‘Please believe me,’ Draco asked, in that voice, again. Mingled desperation, a plea, a little bit of weakness. Harry forced himself to look up, and had to look straight back down again, because he could not meet Draco’s intense gaze. Those silver eyes. Like the sky over the lake.

‘I shouldn’t have said it. It was idiotic, and so, so untrue. Harry,’ Draco took Harry’s chin in his hand and lifted his face, staring into Harry’s face. ‘You have to believe me.’

The other hand found Harry’s hands in his lap, and insinuated itself between them, holding tightly to the warm, slightly sweaty palms.

‘If I didn’t want to be with you, why would I be trying so hard to convince you now?’

‘I don’t know,’ Harry admitted. Now that he had no choice but to meet Draco’s eyes, he could see genuine fear, clearer than he was used to. It occurred to him how accustomed Draco must be to guarding his feelings.

‘I believe you,’ he said, though it was difficult to get the words out, and they weren’t entirely true, not yet. Draco smiled and sighed a little.

‘I am sorry,’ Draco said. ‘I never thought that you’d hear it, or that you’d believe Weasley when she told you, I never meant to hurt you or make you feel unhappy. I don’t like how easy it is for you to believe that I don’t love you.’

Harry didn’t know how to reply. He was starting to feel foolish, and like he had only humiliated himself. He _had_ overreacted. Perhaps he _should_ have thought about it more before leaping to that conclusion. But he had been in so much pain.

‘You did hint towards something, I suppose,’ Draco sighed in embarrassed discomfort and entwined both his hands with Harry’s. He was close enough to kiss now, but he didn’t lean forward. It wasn’t the right moment. They needed more words first, more questions answered.

‘I didn’t think I was being so ... withdrawn. Well, I was aware that I was keeping a bit of a distance, but I didn’t think about it. I assumed you’d be patient and wait for me to work things out, but I never intentionally avoided you,’ Draco said quietly. There was no need to talk any louder, when they were so close.

‘I was … I was remembering things that I didn’t want to remember. I was just trying to come to terms with something. And you deserve to know. I just ... I was sort of ashamed. I thought you’d be disgusted with me or something. I didn’t want to be the weak one. I guess, maybe I got a little bit of satisfaction out you chasing me like a lovesick puppy, but that was cruel. I know that now. I won’t do it again.’

Harry didn’t have the energy to be angry at Draco’s pettiness. Now that his heart was recovering from the emotional whiplash that was the past 24 hours, he felt almost intrigued, and fearful that Draco had been hiding something so significant from him out of sheer self-preservation. Was it about Voldemort? What did Draco have to work through that had crippled their intimacy so badly?

‘It started with something you said, actually,’ Draco said, retrieving one hand to scratch at the back of his head, and quickly putting it back, as if to make sure Harry’s hands didn’t escape or feel lonely. ‘You said ... okay,’ he took a deep breath. It suddenly clear how much Draco didn’t want to divulge his secret. It only made Harry more nervous. If it was so personal, was it right to force Draco to tell him? Could he live with not knowing, and would Draco ever open up like this again? He had the sudden uncomfortable feeling of having bullied Draco into sharing something deeply personal.

‘Remember that day we got caught in the charms classroom?’ Draco asked. Harry nodded mutely. A dim memory of Draco pulling away, of striding alone down the corridor away from him, came unbidden to mind.

‘You said something about me forcing you. That, just. It ... it hit me really hard. And I never planned to tell you about this. But I think you deserve to know. You deserve to know what it is you’re getting,’ he said. Each sentence was like an animal being forced through a cage door.

‘I think I can handle not knowing. If it’s this painful to tell me,’ Harry began, but Draco interrupted and squeezed his hands. Harry could barely feel Draco’s trembling, but it was there, an undercurrent radiating down from his shoulders to his wrists.

‘No, I should.’

‘It’s okay,’ Harry said. The fact that a misunderstanding had caused such a dangerous fight seemed stupid, even as the moment loomed over them from mere minutes ago. He badly wanted to know why Draco had suddenly withdrawn, but if it was something Draco was dealing with alone, then Harry wanted to trust him. That was what he would expect of Draco, after all. He wouldn’t want anyone poking around with his personal demons, even if it was the one he loved.

‘I think I should tell you,’ Draco said. ‘Maybe you’ll probably find out eventually anyway. I think it’s best you hear it from me.’

Harry gave in, half-guilty, half-relieved. He shut his mouth as a visual sign that he was listening. Draco’s lips curved slightly at the edges at Harry’s final compliance, and he struggled on.

‘Well, you know how my father was arrested for more than just being a Death Eater?’ Draco asked. It was his turn to look determinedly down, but his hands remained clasped with Harry’s.

‘Yes,’ Harry said, once he understood that some sort of audible response was required.

‘Well, what else did you hear?’

‘That he had had some part in a smuggling ring. That he had embezzled from the Ministry more than once,’ Harry said, feeling odd about listing Draco’s father’s sins to him. ‘He had abused his position, threatened co-workers, and used illegal methods to get bills rejected or passed. I got the impression he did a lot behind the ministry’s back.’

‘What else?’

There was one other thing Harry had read that he had avoided saying, and with morbid, fearful suspicion, he realised that this played a part in what Draco was trying to tell him.

‘I heard he was charged with spousal abuse. And child abuse.’

‘Yeah,’ Draco said, slightly awkwardly, as if he was admitting to something he personally had done wrong. ‘In homes like ours, it’s not so unusual. Especially after we lost Dobby, he didn’t have anyone else to take his frustrations out on. There were just some things they didn’t mention in the Prophet.’

There was a hint, a suggestion of something terrible in his sentence, something Harry didn’t want to suspect, let alone believe. Draco’s line of sight remained stuck to the floor.

‘I don’t want to have to admit to this,’ Draco said in a small voice. ‘But it’s going to end up coming out. Stuff like this always does.’

Harry tightened his fingers on Draco’s hands. _No_.

‘He had different ways of taking out his frustrations, see ...’

Harry swallowed. He wished he could still the tremors of Draco’s body just by squeezing his hands.

‘Sometimes he’d hit us. Mostly mother, especially if she tried to hide me, but sometimes she just wasn’t in the house, or in the room.’

Harry had to consciously stop himself from squeezing Draco’s fingers too hard. The anger had returned, but it was a very different kind of anger now. An impotent, after-the-fact kind.

‘If he was in a really foul mood, or sometimes I’d see the look on his face, and I’d know, and running never did any good, because he could always trap me or find me ... I think, maybe he used to do it as a really insidious way of getting back at mother, but I think after a while he started to enjoy it, because he did it behind her back ...’

 _Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say_. Draco was vibrating, it was coming through in his voice now. Harry wanted to reach out, to do something, anything, but he couldn’t move.

‘He said it was to ... to “discipline” me ... but he could use any old excuse.’ Draco’s face, directed down but close enough to see, was distorted with a mass of emotion and he looked like he was either going to scream or shut down. Harry finally broke out of his immobility and wrapped his arms around Draco. He could do nothing else.

The real anger came from knowing that no amount of imagining would come close to what had actually happened. And he was enraged. He wanted to kill Lucius Malfoy. More than he’d ever wanted to kill anyone, in that moment including Voldemort. As he felt Draco’s shoulders quake and fought down the urge to throw up, his sensitivity and fragility and sadness fell away under the relentless onslaught of fury that overtook it.

_How dare he. I’m going to kill him if it’s my last act. He is going to die for what he did. That bastard._

‘ _He told me I was enjoying it_ ,’ Draco hissed into Harry’s shoulder. Then he broke down completely.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little N/B love for yous guys who are only here to see Neville get his rocks off.

It was so quiet. Neither of them could quite believe it wasn’t after hours. It was dark outside. The unusual pair, secluded and comfortable in each other’s presence, were reading again.

The quiet of their companionship allowed them to regard each other without fear of scrutiny. Sometimes Neville would look up at Blaise and see Blaise looking at him, but neither boy would look away. Neville wondered at how some things don’t even need to be said with words. He was Blaise’s friend, one way or another. It didn’t have to be acknowledged in order to be true. He valued Blaise too. He was pretty sure even the proud, unruffled Slytherin could see that, and appreciated it in his own pompous way.

Blaise was charmed by Neville’s new boldness. He claimed responsibility for some of it. Some of it was, of course, because Neville now seemed to think of himself as being equal to Blaise on some level. It was probably that stupid Herbology assignment (Blaise’s overall mark ranked around the middle of his year, an average, which was mildly disappointing but not of overall import).

Sometimes Blaise’s mind would go blank when their eyes met over the table. There wasn’t a particular reason why. He should probably have been bothered by the fact that looking at Neville, when they were alone together, took precedence over actual thought. He couldn’t remember deciding that, but apparently his mind had made itself up while his back was turned, and Neville’s face was a priority.

Blaise remembered when Neville’s face used to be something to laugh at, but now he wondered why. It was oval-shaped, not at all abnormal or asymmetrical. His dark hair was bed-head messy without being distractingly so, and his eyes were weightless and shining, and yes, his teeth stood out a bit, especially when he grinned, but that was more endearing than anything else. He actually had quite good skin. He probably used some sort of plant thing to take care of it. And he was tall, taller than he seemed, because he used to slump a lot. But he didn’t slump with Blaise. With Blaise, he stood a little taller, walked a little more confidently. And his hands were particular and accurate. He had useful sorts of hands. Not too delicate for difficult tasks, not too indelicate for gentle, fine work. They tapped on things or fiddled when Neville was nervous, but that was a flaw Blaise could easily endure.

In fact, if Blaise was coming to be an expert on anything, he guessed it would probably be Neville. On his little worries, his habits, even the ones Neville himself wasn’t aware of. If somebody asked, Blaise fancied he could probably tell them exactly how many hairs on each of Neville’s eyebrows.

Blaise closed his book and leaned back, resigned. It probably should have occurred to him before, but apparently there was nothing for it now. Neville was on his mind too much for it to be a fleeting fancy. And he did know rather too much about the idiot to ignore.

Ah well, he though. It couldn’t be helped. But Malfoy had always been a trend-setter. He chuckled to himself, as he wondered whether Pansy would be falling for Gryffindor’s Lavender Brown next.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress happens.

**.NB.**

‘Took them long enough,’ Blaise commented half-heartedly, tossing the paper to Neville from across the table. They were spending the morning in the library together before a class, a relatively new addition to their routine. It felt unnervingly natural as a development.

Neville’s face went blank as he stared at the front page. There was a stretched, awkward silence as he tried to think of something to say in response to what was blazed across the Prophet’s front page.

‘Well ... at least they didn’t call him Harry Poofter like that Nott kid from your house,’ Neville said weakly. Blaise snorted.

‘I’m wondering why it didn’t happen sooner,’ he said neutrally. Neville eyed Blaise shrewdly as he gave it further thought.

‘Doesn't one of your cousins work at the Prophet? Way up somewhere?’ he asked slowly.

‘If you’re asking whether or not she could have stopped it from going to print, then no. She’s not editor-in-chief, and even if she was, this kind of story is to a journalist what a lost sheep is to a starving dragon. It’s business, and I consider it far too honourable of her to have interfered at all.’

Neville was apparently torn between two different responses to this comment, and Blaise amusedly watched his smooth brow knot up in adorable frustration.

‘But, she did try,’ Neville said slowly. ‘Probably because, someone asked her to?’

His expression as he stared at Blaise was far too hopeful, so Blaise redirected the subject quickly to distract him.

‘What are you going to do? This is going to bring a lot more criticism down on Potter’s head, and if you’re going to stand by him, you could end up under fire as well. Some parents are already pushing for another inquest into his family’s case on the suspicion that Malfoy has been magically seducing people. Logically speaking, it would be a tactical move for the Dark Lord to make if he wanted to manipulate Potter into his clutches, and Malfoy would be the perfect pawn for that kind of play.’

‘But that’s not what happened!’ Neville protested.

‘We know that,’ Blaise responded tiredly. ‘But imagine how this looks to an adult who has only just heard about the affair.’

Neville knotted his brow and sulked. Blaise wondered if he should have saved the bombshell for a special occasion, just so he had an excuse to  - reluctantly, of course - comfort the boy with welcoming arms, to feel whether those broad, drawn-in shoulders were just padded under the loose clothing or whether there was genuinely some appealing muscle development under there ...

‘Poor Harry,’ Neville said sadly. ‘But I’m not giving up on him. I didn’t when we went looking for the prophecy in the Ministry, and I won’t now. And even though you’re being “neutral”, it wouldn’t kill you to let Malfoy know that if things get really bad, he’s got you on his side.’

‘He despises me,’ Blaise reminded Neville, but the sweet airhead just shook his head.

‘He acts like that sometimes, but he actually likes to know he isn’t alone. Harry said so. And if anyone knows him that well, it’s Harry.’

‘Nice to know you two have had these chats. If only Malfoy had someone to sit up late with and braid his hair over lengthy heart-to-hearts.’

‘I’m the only guy he can talk to about it,’ Neville said seriously. ‘Ron still won’t get over himself, and if Harry doesn’t mind mentioning this stuff to me, then I don’t mind. Aside from me, his only friends right now are all girls.’

Blaise mentally admitted to himself that it probably would be a proud position, playing such a central role in a bisexual celebrities’ life. He wouldn’t be surprised if Neville enjoyed it, though truthfully Neville seemed to be too busy worrying about Harry to fully appreciate the privilege of his position.

With that in mind, Blaise remembered how almost every semi-meaningful conversation they had had was based around Harry. Whenever Neville opened up at all, it was about his concern for Harry, about Harry’s problems. _I_ _bet he’s never talked about_ me _to anyone_ , Blaise thought sullenly. Then he shook his head, earning a strange look from Neville. _Fuck._ _That doesn’t even matter. Of all the people I had to gain a genuine interest in, and it had to be a tosspot of a Gryffindor_. _And_ he _had to be obsessed with someone else._

‘What are you thinking about?’ Neville asked suddenly, breaking Blaise out of his shallow contemplations. It was the first time Neville had asked. At least it felt that way. It sounded more personal than most of their conversations. Blaise wondered how to answer. The truth, at first, was out of the question. Blaise considered further.

In fact, the truth sounded just far-fetched enough to function as a joke. Blaise knew it would tickle to lay such a truth out there as a sarcastic statement. Hiding it in plain sight, as it were. So he chortled, and leaned back to regard Neville calmly.

‘Just thinking about how very jealous I am that you’re always talking about Harry, when you have a perfectly charming bloke sitting right across from you.’

Neville went red in the face and sputtered at the book he had open on the table, suddenly far too engrossed in the newspaper to _actually_ be engrossed in the newspaper. _Interesting_ , Blaise thought to himself. He opened a new novel to pretend to read, and sneakily watched Neville slowly gain composure as he was reminded about his original angst, eyes roving the story on the front page.

 

**.HD.**

‘This might make our visit with mother a little awkward,’ Draco said irritably, abusing the front page of the Prophet with the pointy end of his quill.

Harry realized that he had been watching Draco out of the corner of his eye a lot more often. He felt as if he finally understood the less approachable parts of Draco’s personality. He also became highly conscious not to touch Draco without explicit permission, though he wondered if Draco appreciated that or was irritated by it.

Harry’s earlier self-pity had inverted and become a deep, gnawing guilt which he could not elude, and his own neurosis seemed infinitesimal compared to what Draco must have suffered through.

‘What does your mother think? Have you written to her about it?’ Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. ‘I wrote to her when this,’ he gestured with a wave of his hand to himself and Harry, ‘first started. It took some back-and-forth with multiple owls, because they kept getting intercepted by nosy aurors, but she settled into the idea. She was deeply impressed when you threw yourself to the vultures in defence of my honour,’ Draco said with a smirk. ‘I can show you a letter where she specifically says that if the Malfoy line is to end with me, we may as well go out with a bang. I won’t deny that being a parselmouth added to your eligibility, though. She’s very Slytherin in that way.’

Watching Draco ramble lazily on, it was almost as though the nights before hadn’t happened at all. But Harry could still feel the weight of Draco leaning bodily against him as he choked out sob after ruined sob. _Abused. He had been abused by his father._ And for it, Draco had felt wrong, inferior, dirty, as though he didn’t deserve an innocent first love because he had already been broken. Because he was used goods. Harry hadn’t what to do except hold Draco and try to explain. _I love you. Every inch of you, inside and out. None of it was your fault. I’m yours and you’re safe with me and I’ll look after you, and no amount of fear or doubt will get in the way of us. Not anymore_.

After Draco had calmed down, they sat side by side with their backs against the railings and leaned into each other. It had been cold, so they both wrapped their cloaks around themselves like blankets. Then Harry promised that he was going to kill Lucius Malfoy. He meant it, as earnestly as he had ever meant anything. It probably wasn’t a good time to say it, he realized in hindsight. Draco just snuggled deeper into Harry’s arms and told him not to, because he didn’t think he could put up with a long-distance relationship with an Azkaban prisoner.

And now, on the stairs beside the stained-glass window, looking at Draco, Harry was struck with an urge to kiss him and hold him again. Slowly, so Draco had time to move away if he wanted to, Harry slid into Draco’s space and pressed their lips together.

Draco didn’t seem to mind. He twisted sideways until they were bodily facing each other and drew Harry onto his lap, tilting his head and pulling off Harry’s glasses. It was comfortable, even with Draco having to curve his body to fit Harry’s.

It was a long, quiet, tongue-less kiss, involving much stroking of cheeks and lower backs, and occasionally a fingernail teasing the shell of an ear. When it ended, Harry felt like a sack of sleepy kittens and Draco’s lidded eyes were content and dark and their arms felt natural around each other.

‘Let’s do that more often,’ Draco murmured as he nuzzled his face into Harry’s neck. Harry smiled and yawned. He felt like he could spend the holidays at Draco’s imposing mansion now. The universe existed in an enclosed space of _yes_ and _warm_ and _good_ , just for now.

 

**.NB.**

He hadn’t been so generous with his time for anyone before. With grim resignation, Blaise reminded himself that Neville wasn’t just *anyone*. He was in a league of his own, a unique and perfect measure of dopiness and naivety and earnest, dumbfounding loyalty. He was a human Labrador.

And his scent. He always smelled like fresh earth and green things, which wasn’t at all unpleasant. Like a natural perfume, the smell clung to him. To his hair, to his skin. Yet somehow, because he always remembered his gloves, the dirt never got under his nails.

And Blaise was starting to notice other things. He knew Neville’s face, but his lips ... those lips were becoming more fascinating in the way they moved, and they moved a lot when Neville spoke, and Neville spoke a lot. They were enticing. It was unfair. Slightly girly, full and pale but just pink enough to look ... Blaise didn’t know the right word. Touchable. Soft. Pliant. Juicy? He wanted to know what it was like to engulf that chatterbox mouth. He wanted the satisfaction of shutting Neville up for a good hour or so with a proper, deep, thorough snog.

Merlin, when did he turn into such an intolerable sap? Dreaming about kissing someone. Peh. Blaise wasn’t a puppydog. He called the shots, and Neville was going to want him first. Blaise always had the upper hand. The upper hand _belonged_ to him. It was his weapon, his shield and his privilege. And Neville was going to crawl to him, pleading, before Blaise even considered giving in.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets his posh boy on and Neville grows a pair of serious balls.

**.HD.**

Snow had arrived by the time students got their marks back.

A thick white chilly carpet masked the world outside and transformed it into a smudged landscape. The cold infiltrated almost every room on the uppermost and lowermost regions of the castle, with only some classrooms in between heated by the kinder teachers.

Harry was hesitant about using the dreary temperature as an excuse to get as physically close as possible, but thankfully, Draco was more than happy to indulge.  Spurred on by the report in the Prophet, the pair were united in their adamant refusal to be influenced or intimidated by the student body’s response to the article.

The stay at Malfoy Manor was now only a week and a half away. It was a relief to know what was going to happen during the holidays, since his ritual stay at the Weasley’s felt extremely unlikely. It was the first time Draco had mentioned it since it had been arranged.

‘Mother will expect you to look less like a peasant and more like you’re on my level,’ Draco said frankly, eyeing off Harry’s cheap jeans and sweater. It was a relief not to be bothered by Draco’s attitude, but not necessarily because he had recently been daily exposed to it. The scene in the astronomy tower wasn’t far enough in the past to be out of Harry’s head for long, but mercifully, his boyfriend had returned to his bratty standard equilibrium.

‘Every mother wants the best for her little girl,’ Harry replied.

‘I was thinking of stopping off at one of the tailors that usually does my wardrobe,’ Draco said, happily steamrolling over Harry’s comment. Harry was staggered by the idea of visiting a tailor’s. The prospect of going clothes shopping together hadn’t occurred, although it had crossed his mind once or twice to wonder what Mrs Malfoy would think of his single pair of scuffed shoes and four-year-old jacket.

‘ _One of_ the tailors?’

‘Some are better for shirts and dinner jackets, but have a weak selection of trousers. Some know how to make good shoes, but don’t know black tie from white tie. Most of my clothes are tailored,’ Draco explained casually. Harry supposed he should have expected that, but it was still a powerful reminder of the vast difference between the worlds they had grown up in. And how much was it all going to cost? He couldn’t bear to ask without sounding frugal, and Draco knew how much money Harry had inherited. He had been outraged, upon hearing about the mountains of galleons, that Harry didn’t own a single pair of cufflinks.

Harry continued to worry listlessly until he returned to Gryffindor tower. He had gotten into the habit of retreating immediately to his dorm, so he felt depressingly out-of-place and slightly exposed when Hermione caught him, and dragged him instead to a couch in front of the fire. As they reclined together on the cushions, he made the mistake of bringing up the clothing problem.

‘He’s right about your clothes, but, _goodness_ ,’ she said, with a hint of vicious glee. She had to finish laughing before she continued. ‘I can’t bring myself to envy you.’

‘I can’t wait until you have a fussy boyfriend,’ Harry muttered. Ginny wasn’t much more help. In fact, when she joined them on the couch, she vouched to go along and help pick out ties.

Harry couldn’t help the faint regret he felt when a flash of ginger hair passed them quickly by and dashed up the stairs to the boys’ dorm.

Ron would probably have laughed about it too, if he wasn’t still being a jerk. Harry wondered, heart stinging a little, if their friendship would ever revive. Surely by now, Ron could see that Harry’s relationship wasn’t unhealthy? That Draco wasn’t evil? Or did it really all come down to the fact that he would never stop hating Draco, and would never forgive Harry? It all seemed so depressingly petty and futile.

Panic about clothing and friendships aside, Harry wondered how exactly they were getting to Malfoy Manor. Did the wizarding world have the equivalent of a limousine? Because Harry could very easily see Draco arranging it. He sure as hell couldn’t imagine Draco on a bus. Floo powder was too likely to get soot on his fancy suits, and apparently the Ministry wasn’t allowing any networking between the Manor’s fireplaces and, well, _anywhere_.

‘We had better not be under surveillance while we’re visiting your mum,’ Harry muttered, when the topic next arose. ‘It’s bad enough that the Prophet’s talking about us. They can’t start monitoring our holidays.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Draco grumbled in response, lounging on a sizeable lambswool rug. They had returned to the Room of Requirement for some much-needed privacy. It was the only place they could guarantee being left alone for a secure stretch of time. Interest, ranging from shouted jokes in the corridor to borderline stalking, rose and fell in waves as their notoriety went in and out of trend.

‘I wish they’d stay out of our business, but it’s not like we have any power over what they say.’

‘Neville said something about Blaise having connections to the Prophet,’ Harry said. It was more thinking-out-loud at this point, but at the mention of Blaise’s name Draco perked up and uncrossed his legs to lean forward.

‘Snotty, stuck-up prick. _He_ probably sent them the story.’

‘If that was true, the Prophet would have published something like this earlier. Neville made it sound like he’d asked his aunt to keep it quiet for as long as possible.’

Draco peered at Harry intently. ‘Interesting thing for him to say.’

‘Why?’ Harry asked, before yawning and stretching. He couldn’t remember how long they had been sitting on the rug, but he was starting to feel pleasantly sleepy.

‘How often does he talk about Zabini? Often enough, if you’ve started calling him by his first name.’

Harry considered the question. ‘Come to think of it, he _does_ always call him Blaise. And I think they hang out. They must talk a fair bit, at least. Every second thing Neville says is something Blaise told him.’

Draco shuffled over to lay his head on Harry’s chest before continuing. ‘Surely not. Zabini wouldn’t be seen dead wasting time with a Gryffindor, let alone an infamous dork.’

‘Are you even capable of talking about my friends without being mean?’

‘Though this is interesting. Maybe I should ask Zabini about it and see how he responds.’

‘Don’t you dare. I think Neville likes him. He’s never talked about anyone so much. He only usually talks this much about weeds.’

‘Very interesting,’ Draco repeated. Before Harry could object to the suspicious tone of his voice, Draco rolled over and pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, settling on an earlobe which he slowly sucked and nibbled.

And so drifted by the next ten minutes.

 

**.NB.**

For the first time in months, Neville had a conversation with Ron, and it was the first (and only) one he relayed to Blaise, and not to Harry.

‘Orright?’ was how it started.

Initially, Neville only noticed that Ron had never deigned to strike up a conversation with him before. It was previously always Neville who initiated conversation, because he wanted to talk to people, and people didn’t usually want to talk to him.

Then he noticed that Ron’s feet were shuffling slightly, as if he inwardly wanted to turn and walk away.

‘Hi,’ Neville said. It would have been awkward to leave the “orright” hanging there any longer.

‘So. How’s things?’ Ron asked. He approached as if to sit down, then changed his mind and remained standing.

‘Fine. Good.’

‘Heard you got top of the class in Herbology.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Nice one.’

The awkward, wordless void returned and Neville had a moment in which to wonder why Ron was putting them both through this. The answer soon came, as Ron cleared his throat and asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage,

‘So how’s Harry?’

Neville crossed his arms, and responded just as nonchalantly, ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

The pressure of the following few seconds was palpable.

‘You know why,’ Ron said stiffly.

‘I don’t even think _you_ know why,’ Neville said tartly. It came out sounding a lot more sophisticated than he felt on the inside. On the inside was a soup of irritation and embarrassment and any multitude of other emotions he wasn’t able to name.

Ron snorted. ‘Come on,’ he replied. ‘How could he be _so stupid_?’

 _How could_ you _be so stupid_?! Neville wanted to shout, but shouting wouldn’t have helped anything. ‘You haven’t even talked to him in ages.’

‘It’s Malfoy.’

‘You don’t know Malfoy.’

‘And I suppose you think you do?’ Ron retorted. Neville wondered when and why this had turned into an argument.

‘I know him a damn sight better than you,’ Neville said. ‘And until you grow up, you’re not going to know him at all. It’s almost holidays. You probably won’t even see him until after Christmas. Think about that.’

With this, he turned on his heel and stalked off. But as soon as he rounded the corner and was out of sight, he knelt down, leaned his back against the wall, and pressed the heels of his hands to his face.

_I can’t believe I just did that._

He had had an argument with a Weasley and stormed off. Neville never stormed anywhere. He usually moused about. Like a mouse. And this was between Harry and Ron.

He had never felt quite so grown-up, or quite so upset.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should just apologize for being late Every Single Time i post a new chapter.
> 
> Plus I just realized that N/B is probably the biggest slow burn i have ever written ever. CHAPTER 19, PEEPS. AND THEY AIN'T DONE NUTHIN YET.

**.NB.**

‘Why are you staying for the holidays? Your grandmother’s?’ Blaise asked.

He usually opened a conversation without saying “hello”. Neville suspected that Blaise thought it provided distance, as if Neville wasn’t important enough to formally acknowledge. He hoped it really just meant that Blaise felt he could let his guard down.

‘My Nan’s ill. She’s having a rough enough time of it, so I decided to stay here for Christmas. Doctor says that Christmas as we usually have it would be too much strain for her.’

‘Ah. Fair enough,’ Blaise said disinterestedly. Neville knew he ought to be annoyed, but there was something refreshing about that disinterest after weeks of everyone else’s pitying glances. He felt a little worried for her, and he sent her the nicest card he could find, but he knew she’d pull through. Plus, it was nice to spend Christmas at Hogwarts, considering what Christmas at the Longbottom household tended to be like.

‘When are you leaving?’ Neville asked. ‘Just out of interest,’ he added, in response to the look he received.

‘I’m not,’ Blaise huffed. ‘Mother and father are treating themselves to a holiday, never mind that their anniversary is a whole five months away. I’m either to spend it with my cousins or stay in this dump. It was simply a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils.’

‘Ah,’ Neville said. He wasn’t sure what to say about that. Blaise had never mentioned his family before, Neville realized. Apparently he didn’t think much of them, despite his evident pride in his pureblood heritage.

‘I’m not crying on the inside, Longbottom,’ Blaise added. ‘I’m relieved. This way I don’t have to pretend that I like the ridiculous presents they send me.’

Neville couldn’t deny that he felt a bit light-hearted at the thought of them both spending the holidays at Hogwarts. It meant more time spent together.

Not that there was any way he was saying that out loud.

 

**.HD.**

‘We’re leaving Hogwarts tomorrow,’ Harry said.

‘It’ll be strange, not seeing you in the Burrow this year,’ Ginny said quietly. ‘You haven’t seen Fred and George for ages, but they know.’

Harry didn’t have to ask what about.

‘And what do they think?’ he asked, with a hint of nervousness.

‘They think you’re barmy,’ Ginny answered. Harry’s heart sank a little. He had always admired the twins. They had been a blessing to play alongside on the team. They were always the best people to have around to mediate a stressful situation. And now Harry wouldn’t be able to turn to them anymore. Even with the pair of them miles away, he was only just beginning to feel the distance.

‘Don’t look so miserable,’ Ginny said, poking Harry in the ribs. ‘They reckon it’s your business who you shag. Their opinion of you hasn’t really changed. They’ve _always_ thought you were barmy.’

Harry smiled. He could deal with that.

‘And before you ask about our parents, don’t get your broom in a knot. They came around pretty quickly.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Mum shares the same philosophy as the twins, and so does Bill. Dad was a bit weird about it. All this we're getting from letters, of course. It’ll be interesting to talk about in person.’

Harry was about to ask her not to talk to her parents about his love life, but her use “we're” stopped him. He’d almost forgotten. Ron.

‘Harry?’

‘Nothing,’ he muttered. Ron was entering the common room via the stairs. Harry dashed out the portrait hole before Ginny could notice and stop him.

 

**.NB.**

Neville had been sitting in the library on his own for an hour before it hit him that he wasn’t reading anything.

He was waiting.

As an unofficial meeting place, the library was usually comfortably private, especially if you picked the right place to sit. Even moreso over Christmas, during which eighty per cent of the student body vanished.

Neville didn’t know why, Blaise would spend any of his leisure time with Neville. After being left alone for nearly a week following their last conversation, he was starting to think Blaise’s only reason for spending the occasional afternoon in Neville’s company was so he could escape the company of other Slytherins. But now, Blaise probably had the dungeons pretty much to himself.

Sighing and packing away his borrowed novel, Neville resolved to find something else to occupy his time. Sprout had said she’d be glad for his assistance in the greenhouses over the holidays. It was wonderfully peaceful there. All that green, that wonderful smell, of the soil and the plants, the occasional blast of colour. Helping things to grow. He felt a little better already.

There was something unfulfilling about leaving the library then, almost as if he’d missed an appointment. He caught himself hoping he would catch Blaise in the doorway, or maybe in the next corridor, or the next. Every step seemed to be a step closer to one of the worst falls Neville had made, and Neville was clumsy, and had fallen _a lot._

Why the hell did he have to fall for an elitist bastard Slytherin?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what? As an apology for taking so damn long, here's another chapter right away.
> 
> Draco is a miss priss. Neville is a dumbass. They both need to take lessons in how to Relationship properly. Maybe from Lupin and Black, who do not appear in this fic but who, imho, are married and living together on an island miles away from everyone, sipping margaritas and eating tapas and being puppyhusbands forever.

**.HD.**

It was worse than the Cruciatus curse. Worse than spending summer with the Dursleys. Worse than, quite probably, Hell.

At least there were no sappy Christmas decorations.

Harry stood, drooping slightly and feeling very conspicuous, about five feet away as Draco had a mostly illegible conversation with a sleekly uniformed young woman. She took several pages of notes before shooting off like a sparrow between the maze-like rows of clothing. Harry was both relieved and slightly baffled that Draco had _memorized_ his _measurements_.

The boutique was small, and the staff were discreet and intimidatingly professional. Draco had obviously contacted the owner to say they were coming; when they arrived, a middle-aged lady in understated dress robes was waiting to meet them.

‘She’s one of the only old friends of the family we still see,’ Draco explained. ‘She’s possibly the only one who was happy to keep in contact. It’s all business. We’ve spent a lot of money here.’

‘Right,’ Harry said, choosing to keep otherwise silent. The more of Draco’s life he saw, the more aware he was that they really did come from opposite worlds. Draco seemed to be perfectly in his element while Harry wanted to hide in a corner.

‘They aren’t going to add anything, are they?’ he asked cautiously. Draco looked at him and smirked. ‘Not for my money. They won’t mess with your choice.’

Harry had picked out a simple enough pattern based on a pair of “everyday robes” hanging against the wall. They had looked incomplete compared to everything else on display, but everything else on display had things like tiepins and cravats and pleats in odd places. When he had been asked what colour trim he’d prefer, he had gotten flustered and Draco had come to the rescue. As it turned out, nothing in the boutique was “ready-to-wear”. He was even offered a choice of how many buttons he wanted on the sleeves.

‘I thought _I_ was paying,’ Harry muttered, but mostly for his own sake. Draco was showing strong signs of wanting to be the provider, at least when it came to buying things. Despite their day-to-day interaction being back to normal, they were still trying to navigate the strange waters of emotional support after what Harry had discovered about Draco’s childhood, and what Draco had discovered about Harry’s fear of rejection and abandonment. Money was the one thing Draco understood totally, the one way in which he could be reliably in charge. Harry had decided days ago that he was going to let it pass, even if it irked him.

‘Have you seriously never been to a tailor? How long has it been since you bought a new outfit?’ Draco asked for the hundredth time. Harry shrugged, again for the hundredth time. ‘I buy some second-hand stuff from a thrift store when I run out of shirts. I’ve basically been taking care of my own clothes since second year.’

From the look of revulsion on Draco’s face, Harry guessed he wasn’t going to be allowed any more second-hand clothes. He tried not to shiver. If Draco hijacked his wardrobe and started dressing him in black suits and Italian leather shoes, the Prophet was going to throw a party.

Draco must have noticed Harry’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, and slid an arm beneath Harry’s jacket and around his waist.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Draco whispered before kissing Harry’s ear. ‘It’s just one bloody suit. I promise not to buy you anything exceeding fifty galleons.’

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘You think fifty is cheap, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right. Just checking.’

 

**.NB.**

Neville hadn’t seen Blaise in six whole days. He was used to seeing him, by now, every three or so days. Harry and Draco had left the previous morning. Ron and Ginny had left the evening before. Hermione had gotten a lift with the Weasleys. Very few Gryffindors remained in the tower, and none of them were close friends.

He had socially gone downhill even further than usual in the last couple of months. He would go so far as to say he had hit rock bottom. With a shovel in each hand.

A month of spending time in the library with Hogwart’s secondmost princely Slytherin, and he had surprised himself by not giving a crap. Now that he had the space to think about what that meant, he was concerned. The less time he spent around Blaise, the less time he wanted to spend with him, and it wasn’t because he didn’t _want_ to see him. It was the opposite. He missed Blaise fiercely, and it had been only six days. Neville didn’t want to have to rely on someone who was as incomprehensible and perilous as a cobra, especially not for affection. If he made it any more obvious than he already had, that Blaise had gotten under his skin ...

He sat in the same spot in the library. He wondered if Blaise was watching him from the shadows or around the corner of a bookcase, chuckling at how easily he had this dumb lump tied around his finger. Neville stood quickly and picked up the books he had considered borrowing. Blaise wouldn’t bother investing time in deliberately wrapping Neville around his finger. That would require effort. And Neville wasn’t really worth effort.

Passing the front desk, Neville stopped dead in his tracks. He turned back and looked. There, in the Herbology section, Blaise was staring at the shelves. With a self-inking quill and a little moleskin notebook, was taking down notes. Neville hid around the corner and watched. Blaise pulled a book half-out so he could see the reference number. More scribbling. He flicked through the first few pages of another and put it back. Then his brow furrowed for a moment and he looked annoyed. He snapped the moleskin notebook shut and left the Herbology section. Neville backed into the corner of the exit so Blaise wouldn’t see him as he wandered into the next isle.

Neville walked straight to the Gryffindor tower.

What had Blaise been doing? Whatever it was, Neville felt a little happier than he had a couple of hours ago. Blaise had shown no interest whatsoever in Herbology before. If he couldn’t get Blaise to genuinely like him, Neville has happy that they finally seemed to share an interest. That was close enough for him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un-betad as usual.
> 
> Here, have a long chapter in which stuff actually happens.

**.HD.**

It was only three days till Christmas. Harry replayed this sentence over and over in his head. Only three days until Christmas. And this was where he’d be spending it.

The gates were at least five meters tall and the house looked haunted and grey. A feeling reverberated around the grounds, neither welcoming nor silent. The place teemed with magic and not all of it was good magic.

Malfoy Manor had a blighted, lonely, desolate atmosphere that set it as far apart from the Burrow as was possible to get. Despite how uncomfortable it would probably have been, Harry tried hard not to wish he was there instead. Which he did. He wished he could have invited Draco along to the Weasley’s house without breaking a million taboos. He missed the Burrow.

Draco must have noticed Harry’s discomfort. He cleared his throat and took Harry’s hand.

The gates opened with a flick of Draco’s wand and they made their way up the drive, their trunks and Hedwig’s empty cage floating along behind them. Hedwig had been allowed to fly ahead, and was presumably socialising with Draco’s tawny owl further behind the house.

The crunch of the gravel under their feet was the only sound until they reached the broad steps leading up to the front door. Mrs Malfoy – Narcissa, Draco had said to call her – knew they’d arrived. She was standing and waiting for them. It looked as if she had dressed down for the occasion; rather than a frock with furs and pearls (the only thing Harry had ever seen her in, and suspected she wore all the time) she wore a simple but strikingly elegant dress with a double-breasted jacket.

She hugged Draco tightly while Harry stood on the bottom step.

‘I missed you, dear,’ she said, lightly kissing Draco on the cheek. Harry tugged self-consciously on his sleeves. Narcissa turned to face him. There was a very brief, very tangible pause. Then she descended onto the bottom step where he stood and gave him an equally warm hug.

‘Welcome to our home. I’m glad you came,’ she said. The tone in which she said it, and the way she looked him plainly in the face as she did, made Harry feel sure that she wasn’t just saying it to be polite. The house felt a little less cold after that.

The room into which the front door opened was wide and the roof stood high. At either side of them rose a stairway, both which curved up onto a landing. Under the landing and facing them was another door, smaller but elaborately carved in dark wood, and this was the door Narcissa led them through. She chatted with Draco and made small-talk with Harry at the same time. It was hard to tell if she had given any thought to what to say before they arrived, but she steered clear of family topics in favour of asking about his grades and commenting on his sharp new suit (which Draco had bullied him into wearing on the first day, in order to make the best possible impression).

Harry couldn’t help but wonder if she knew how much Draco had told him. If she knew, and if she was wondering what he was thinking. He wondered if she hated that he knew about the pain, the isolation and torture behind the newspaper scandal.  Whatever the case may be, for the time being she was keeping up a stellar performance of the dapper hostess.

‘Since Dobby went to work at Hogwarts, we’ve hired a cook, and she makes the most wonderful chicken marengo. I was thinking of having a late lunch, what do you boys think?’

Harry was relieved that at least the pair of Malfoys looked perfectly at ease. There was even a little something Mrs Weasleyish about the way Narcissa swooped around rooms and topics as if she belonged nowhere else but in that house.

‘I thought we were having pissaladière for lunch and chicken marengo for dinner,’ Draco said.

‘I feel like something marinated. Perhaps coquilles saint-jacques with the seafood platter for dinner and the chicken for lunch? That way we have a variety. Do you have a preference, Harry?’

Harry was caught off-guard. Try as he might, nothing would come to mind but cheese toasties. He shook his head, trying to look more indecisive and less utterly ignorant.

‘Chicken sounds good,’ he said, for the sake of saying something. Draco squeezed his hand.

‘Mother, I’m going to take Harry to meet the dogs. We’ll meet you in the dining hall in an hour.’

‘I’ll tell Didier that he can start.’

 _Meet you in the dining hall_. Not dining room. Dining _hall_. It made Harry wonder, not for the first time, exactly how big the house was. He knew the property altogether, grounds included, covered at least five acres. And this was only one of several properties belonging to the family.

‘You get used to the French,’ Draco said apologetically. ‘It’s all the same sort of stuff you find in fancy cafes. A “pissaladière” is just an onion tart.’

‘That makes me feel a lot better.’

‘It’s easy. If you don’t know what she’s on about, just nod and say it’s up to her.’

‘Just make sure, when we get to the snails, to let me know which of the six forks I’m meant to use. Or do you just use plain cutlery like normal people?’

That earned him a smack upside the head.

 

**.NB.**

Neville awoke very slowly.

The good thing about holidays, Neville thought, was that he got to sleep in. He rolled over and nuzzled his face into the pillow. It was so warm and cozy.

It took him a moment to realize that today was Christmas Eve. He should send out Nan’s present with his aunt and uncle’s, he thought, but that could probably wait a couple more hours. At least until twelve. He could borrow one of the school owls before they went off duty until Boxing Day.

The next time he rolled over and looked at his watch, it said 11:00. He rolled out of bed, grunting, and wiped the gunk from his eyes. He shivered as he pulled on a shirt and jumper and wished he had at least wrapped the presents already. He was going to get lost on the way, he knew it.

He hurriedly wrapped and addressed the presents. He had to start over again with his aunt’s because he accidentally ripped the paper, and hurried out of Gryffindor tower, almost forgetting to put on his shoes. He had forgotten to take his watch and didn’t know what time it was by the time he reached the owl’s tower. Whatever time it was, it was past 12:00. The owls had already been moved.

Filch was cleaning bird poo off every surface he could reach.

‘Longbottom. Yer a bit late, I’m afraid,’ he said, hardly trying to look apologetic. ‘Family will have to wait a bit to get their presents. Ought to have sent them yesterday,’ he added, vaguely smug.

‘Can’t I borrow just one? Just for today?’ Neville pleaded, clutching the three packages to his chest so he wouldn’t drop them.

‘Rules are rules. The owls are on holiday. So should you be. No get back inside, before your face freezes off.’

Neville had no choice. Feeling the guilt and dejection of recurring failure, he slumped back indoors.

He didn’t even realize where he was heading until Madame Pince stood before him.

He had thought he was walking aimlessly. If he could have stayed outside, he probably would have gone to the greenhouses, but inside, the library was his next port of call.

‘Looking for something?’ the librarian asked brusquely.

‘No,’ Neville said. Before he could disappoint himself further by waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show, he began to walk out.

‘What’s in those, Longbottom?’ a voice called out. Neville spun around. A small group sat in the corner. Going by the sneering looks and general air of superiority and unpleasantness, it was clear whose house they belonged to.

In the process of turning, one of the gifts poking out of Neville’s arms nudged the corner of a bookcase and fell to the ground. There was an ominous crack. The group of Slytherins broke into laughter, and as Neville glanced up to glare at them, he froze. Among them sat Blaise. He looked as impassive as ever, but there he was. He looked straight at Neville, raising his eyebrows as if he was mildly surprised to see him, then calmly inspected the nails on his right hand.

Something about seeing him sitting there among his own people as they cruelly laughed made Neville’s skin crawl. He quickly averted his eyes, a cold sensation roiling inside his gut. He focused on trying to pick up the package without dropping the others. It clinked. There was definitely something broken inside it. Great. Just great. Now the presents would not only be late, but the one present meant for the woman who had raised him, and who currently lay in a hospital, the present had carefully chosen and spent a third of his savings on, was broken.

He left the library, shutting out the stifled giggling of the Slytherins.

He was halfway to the Gryffindor tower to put the presents back in his trunk before he heard the footsteps behind him. Feeling the hairs raise on the back of his neck, he sped up his pace. He didn’t have the safety of moving in a crowd. The teachers were spread around the castle, most of them in their own rooms. Yelling for help, if he was cornered, wouldn’t achieve anything. He had learned that the hard way.

The footsteps sped up as well. Neville fought the urge to look back.

‘Hey,’ a voice snapped. Neville slowed to a stop and turned around, skin prickling.

Blaise was standing with his arms crossed.

‘Hi,’ Neville said. He knew he should feel relieved, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. For some bizarre reason, he wanted to cry.

‘So what are in those?’ He gestured to the packages Neville still clutched to his chest, and the one clinking gently in his right hand.

Neville shrugged. ‘Presents.’

‘You’re a bit late in sending them, aren’t you?’

Neville shrugged again. His face was still flushed, he realized. This was the first time the two of them had spoken outside of the safe seclusion of the library. It was, in fact, the first time Blaise had deliberately sought him out. He had hoped something like this would happen under different circumstances.

‘I thought you said you didn’t have an owl.’

‘I don’t.’

‘The school owls are off duty until a couple days after Christmas, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘So how are you sending them?’

Neville shrugged again. It was getting harder to keep the tears from coming. It was doubly frustrating because he didn’t even know _why_ he was about to cry. He had to get away. There was no way Blaise could see him cry. He just couldn’t..

Blaise closed his eyes and pinched his nose. ‘You really have a talent for messing things up.’

Neville surreptitiously wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Thanks,’ he said bitterly.

Blaise looked at Neville’s face, and for a second he appeared to squint. Neville looked down and turned his face in the hope of putting it in shadow. Blaise sighed.

‘Follow me. If you see anyone, duck around a corner.’

Neville didn’t ask. He followed. They took a few twists and turns and descended several staircases Neville didn’t even know existed, heading steadily down into the lower levels of the castle, but finally they stopped. They were facing a large portrait of a snake.

‘Stay here a moment,’ Blaise commanded. Neville sank into the shadows. It was freezing. There were no windows and very little light, aside from that afforded by the torches hanging in brackets on the walls.

He waited for five minutes, feeling more suspicious with every minute that passed. Maybe Blaise was playing a trick on him. Maybe he’d be waiting all day. Then one final minute passed, and Blaise reappeared.

‘Just this once, alright?’ Blaise said firmly.

A large barn owl perched regally on his left arm. With the opposite hand, Blaise stroked its velvety breast and tickled the fluff around its beak.

‘You’re lending me your owl?’ Neville asked, flabbergasted. ‘Really?’

‘Just for today. Once he’s delivered the presents, he’ll come straight back to me,’ Blaise said. ‘He’s carried heavier objects over longer distances, so don’t worry. Is that all you need to send?’ Blaise asked, nodding to the packages. Neville looked down at them, barely able to believe that his dilemma was being solved already.

He handed over the first two packages, and looked dejectedly at the third. He supposed, if Nan wrote to him, he could tell her it must have been dropped by the owl. But that would be mean and selfish.

‘What is it?’ Blaise asked, after tying the first two to his owl’s leg.

‘It broke when I dropped it,’ Neville admitted, looking down at his Nan’s gift.

Blaise looked at the present. “Augusta Longbottom” was written plainly on the tag.

‘Give it here,’ Blaise muttered. He pointed his wand at the gift, which promptly and neatly unwrapped itself. The wreckage wasn’t too bad. The china vase was mostly intact, except for a wedge that had broken off at the top and a crack running down the side.

‘ _Reparo_ ,’ Blaise said, wand trained on the vase. The broken fragment returned immediately to its place, and the crack sealed itself.

The owl was sent out the first window they encountered, flying off with the three packages on powerful and steady beats of its huge wings. Blaise and Neville walked wordlessly together in no particular direction.

Neville looked at his shoes, suddenly shy and guilty. He had been so suspicious about Blaise’s motives, yet there he was, helping Neville when he desperately needed it. Neville was touched.

Just before they reached a main corridor, Neville took a risk and touched Blaise’s arm. Blaise didn’t shrink away. They may have spent some time in each other’s company, but they had never really had physical contact before.

‘Thank you,’ Neville said.

‘Don’t mention it. Honestly. Don’t mention it. _To anyone_.’

‘No, I mean it,’ Neville said seriously. ‘Thanks.’

Blaise stared at Neville. Then the corner of his mouth twitched into what may have, on a good day, passed for a smile.

‘You’re welcome, Longbottom.’


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AROOOOOO
> 
> still un-betad. Guh.

**.HD.**

There wasn’t a lot about Malfoy Manor that Harry found comfortable, but he did like the dogs. There were three, each named after a constellation. That made the absence of a certain canine constellation only more noticeable.

It didn’t feel wrong to Harry to be instantly reminded of Sirius when he saw the dogs, especially the lean, leggy grey spaniel. They all looked a lot better groomed than Sirius had looked as a dog, and were probably purebred, just like their owners. They were also unexpectedly friendly and affectionate.

When they saw Draco coming around the corner they bounded up, barking and yelping their greetings. It did not take them long to grow accustomed to Harry.

‘They’d make useless guard dogs,’ Draco said fondly, rubbing Taurus behind the ears. ‘We used to race them, but lately mother has been keeping them around for companionship.’

Sagitta and Hydra licked at Harry’s hands and arms with warm, rough doggy tongues. He shuffled down from his kneeling position to kneel on the ground. It was freezing, and even though they had laid down a snowproof blanket, the cold quickly pierced through every layer of material. Harry rubbed the tops of his thighs vigorously to try and warm them up.

It took about thirty seconds minutes of leg-rubbing for Harry to notice that Draco was watching him. When their eyes met, Draco winked. Harry smiled.

Slowly, but certainly, they had been flirting and teasing and kissing more often. Harry was starting to remember more and more distinctly the way they had been together in that empty Charms classroom, the raw passion, the improvisation and the tentative lust. He wanted more of that. In what he had seen of Draco’s home, it would be hard to generate the same mood. Unless ...

‘Draco,’ Harry began, wondering how exactly to phrase his question without being too obvious. ‘Just out of curiosity ... am I staying in a spare room, or in your ... well, could you show me where I’m sleeping tonight?’

 

**.NB.**

Christmas decorations had been put up several days before Blaise even noticed them. Ironically, because of the nation-wide realization of the Dark Lords’ return, more parents were insisting that their children return home for the holidays rather than remain at Hogwarts, so the school was practically a ghost town. It was possible to walk the halls all day and only come across two or three other students in that whole time. He almost saw more of the teachers.

It had reached an interesting point for Blaise, in that he was seeing Neville outside of the library. It was like a personal experiment, though if he was honest, it was well beyond the point of experimentation. The few other Slytherins who had stayed on spent most of their time in the common room. The Hufflepuffs had taken over the library when they weren’t having mini ice-skating parties outside. The six or seven Ravenclaws could be found scattered about, but for the most part, if Blaise and Neville found a lonely classroom, they could stay for several hours without being seen.

The most troublesome thing was the mistletoe. It made Neville frightfully awkward, moreso than usual, though he was valiantly trying and failing to hide it. Blaise was sure of Neville’s affection, but he knew he’d have to wait if he wanted Neville to make the first move. For the sake of his dignity, he had to. He wouldn’t go chasing a Gryffindor of his own free will. No, he told himself, he would remain firm. _Neville_ would go chasing after _him_.

 _The mistletoe should be helping_ , Blaise sulked to himself as they loafed around the Astronomy tower on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. He had gathered that this was a regular haunt of Harry and Draco’s, which certainly set the atmosphere. He spied a clump of prickly green hanging just over the rails, and deliberately sidled over and stood directly beneath it. As if he hadn’t even noticed. He felt cheap for throwing opportunity after opportunity in Neville’s path, but the idiot needed a pretty solid push to get moving.

Neville paused mid-sentence, glancing at the mistletoe before continuing what he was saying. Something about seaweed.

This could take a while.

‘Thanks again for lending me the owl,’ Neville said. Blaise rolled his eyes. It was the fifty thousandth time Neville had brought it up.

‘I told you, it’s no big deal,’ Blaise responded tiredly.

‘You saved me so much trouble,’ Neville said. He was looking at his hands, which were rubbing and circling around each other like energetic little seals. ‘I just wish there was something I could do in return.’

Blaise tried to ignore the barrage of dirty images his brain produced at this offer. Then he looked up at the mistletoe. Then he looked across the rails at Neville; introverted, nervous, self-conscious Neville. And then he broke a promise to himself.

‘Come over here, if you mean that,’ Blaise said.

 

**.HD.**

Harry was dazed. The room he was facing was as expansive and luxurious as it was possible for a bedroom to be. The Gryffindor common room was almost, but not quite as big. The fireplace alone was higher than the door, with a low brick wall in front to keep the ash and wood from spilling over the cloud-soft carpet. The ceiling seemed miles away. The French windows were half-hidden behind dark velvet drapes. The rug looked expensive. Harry felt bad just for walking on it.

All this was nothing, of course, compared to the bed. It was huge, a two-and-a-half meter square of soft, sensual draped black silk, with circular pillows and a gossamer silver canopy.

Harry jumped when Draco appeared behind him.

‘I’m sleeping in here?’ he asked, as soon as he remembered how to speak. He felt Draco nod by the way his chin nudged Harry’s neck. Harry swallowed. ‘I can’t wait to see your room.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Draco breathed. ‘This is my room.’


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know i promised an update much sooner, but life is still hectic. A friend is going through a really hard time so i've been trying to keep an eye on her and make sure she's okay, and i've had two assignments i've only just finished and an exam coming up on saturday so i still need to put together some notes for that. Thank you so much for being patient, guys <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To explain to people who may be wondering what the fuck is going on with the timeline, I blame my atrocious sense of dates. In one chapter, Harry and Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor two days before Christmas. In the same chapter, Neville wakes up on Christmas Eve. In the next chapter, it is still Christmas Eve for Neville, and still two days before Christmas for Harry and Draco.   
> This chapter exists for me to sort my shit out. Harry will wake up on Christmas Eve. Neville is still in the afternoon of the same day. In the chapter after this one, everything will happen on the same day and we’ll be peachy. 
> 
>  
> 
> BTW sex is coming, i swear, just not in this chapter.

**.NB.**

Neville slammed the door to the greenhouse much harder than intended. He didn’t think he’d ever been so embarrassed in his entire life. And that was saying something, considering the life he’d had.

He rubbed his face with both hands, as if to wipe away the furious blush.

The scent of earth and plant life slowly reassured and comforted him. Neville took a look around and took a deep breath. There was no-one else in greenhouse 3.

It hit him how far he must have run in order to reach this place. All the way from the Astronomy Tower. Without tripping, no less. It only made him more embarrassed. Everything was such a mess. What was he going to do? What would Harry do in this situation? He probably wouldn’t have stuffed it up in the first place, Neville supposed.

Making his way slowly over to a quivering screechsnap, Neville tried to divert his thoughts from Blaise. The little green and white snapper had clearly been given too much dragon dung. Some first-years’ mistake, probably. Scooping some fertilizer out of the pot, Neville replaced it with plain soil and looked around for the dittany. Sprout was always picking it up and putting it somewhere else. Neville had found that it had a similar healing effect on some of the other plants. It would at least bring a little comfort to the quaking and squeaking screechsnap.

He found the dittany behind a tentacula, which he petted in order to calm it down so he could get close enough.

With the screechsnap relaxed, Neville wandered the rest of the greenhouse, looking around absently at the green life around him and fretting.

If human relationships were like agriculture, Neville thought, he would be such a smooth operator. He wished he could read people as well as he could read plants. At least he’d know how to interact with them without getting hurt.

As if to punctuate the thought, the tentacula reached out and stung Neville on his ear.

 

**.HD.**

It occurred to Harry, as he opened his eyes, that this was the very first time he had woken up in Draco’s bed.

The rest of the night’s events groggily returned to his sleep-addled brain, and he grinned to himself. Technically, they had only grinded urgently against each other until reaching simultaneous climax. They hadn’t gone further. But the experience – in a bedroom, not the Room of Requirement or hidden in a corner, but a proper bedroom – half-naked, kissing furiously, holding nothing back. And Draco had said “I love you” at least three times, as they lay sweaty and catching their breath in the aftermath. It was dirtily romantic; Harry had come, and he had had time to savour it. He had had time to just relax in Draco’s arms as the sweat and spunk cooled on their skin.

Harry closed his eyes again and shivered with delight. The warm body pressed against his back tightened its hold ever so slightly.

With some difficulty, Harry rolled onto his back and was greeted with the sight of Draco’s face squashed into the pillow. His one visible eye was shut, his hair stuck up in places, his mouth half-open, and his breathing deep and even. Harry had an uncontrollable urge to kiss his face. So he did. First he kissed Draco’s cheek, then the corner of his lips. He watched Draco slowly approach consciousness. Rather than open his eyes properly, Draco tightened his arms around Harry’s middle until Harry was wheezing and scratching at his shoulders.

‘G’mornin.’

‘Morning.’

Draco stretched his legs and tickled Harry’s ribs. Harry poked him sharply. Draco grabbed Harry’s fingers and held onto them to make sure he didn’t do it again. Then, by the sound of his breathing and the way his hand relaxed, Harry realized that Draco had gone straight back to sleep.

He waited for a moment before wresting his hand from Draco’s grasp. Then he pulled the covers up to his chin and prepared himself for a long morning spent in bed.

xxx

It felt like twelve o’clock when they were ready to get up.

‘But it’s _cold_.’

‘It won’t be so bad once you get dressed,’ Harry insisted, persistently pulling at Draco’s arm.

‘Yes it will.’

‘Wuss. Come on. The longer you leave it, the harder it will be to get out of bed.’

‘Then let’s just staaaay in beeeddd.’

‘We have to get up. We’ve already missed breakfast.’

‘Then let’s stay in bed till lunch.’

‘ _Up_.’

‘ _Naw_.’

Harry didn’t notice Narcissa leaning in the doorway wearing a dark purple gown, until she began to giggle. He wondered how he must look, with his hair sticking up every which way and his old pyjamas (he had managed to get Draco to leave the pyjama-buying till after Christmas), and decided not to think about it.

‘Is he always this bad in the morning?’ he asked.

‘Only on the days ending in “y”,’ she replied. ‘I can’t imagine how he ever gets to class on time.’

Draco lazily tossed a pillow off the bed and wriggled under the sheets while Harry was distracted.

‘I’ll have Didier whip up something. Try pulling all the blankets off the bed,’ Narcissa suggested, before sweeping gracefully out of the room. Harry smiled to himself as he took hold of the blankets in his hand.

Yes, it was sad that he couldn’t go to the Weasley’s this Christmas. But there had been no reason for him to be afraid to come here instead. Narcissa had been kind, almost maternally so, toward him. She made him feel welcome. She even seemed grateful, rather than tolerant, that Harry was dating her son. Harry felt a twinge of shame as he thought about all the anxieties he’d had before arriving, most of which had been centred around Narcissa and how she would be.

He yanked the blankets off the bed and pounced. It was going to be a good day.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! We've still got a ways to go before the boys, ALL the boys, can get their happy endings.
> 
> No sex yet, sorry.
> 
> But! We do get to see Harry have feelings about the safety of his loved ones, Blaise growing up a little, and Neville standing up for himself like the truly strong person we all know him to be.

**.HD.**

‘Is your breakfast all right?’ Draco asked quietly, once Narcissa left the room. She ate like a cat – quickly and neatly, with her eyes closed half the time. She had slept in as well. Didier was the only person in the house who ever got up before 9, as it turned out. Narcissa had excused herself with a book in hand, still wearing her purple gown. She was like the house; naturally stately and unceremonious. Breakfast was a much more relaxed affair than dinner had been. Perhaps it was the sunlight light slanting over the long table from the high windows, or the way everyone was still in their pajamas when they sat down to eat, but the room and the food were much more welcoming and comfortable than the night before. The night before, of course, Harry and Narcissa had still, in a way, been sussing each other out.

Harry nodded, unable to answer Draco’s question with his mouth full. It was a simple breakfast, more simple than its elegant presentation suggested. Harry was pretty sure that the silverware was, in fact, made of silver. But the breakfast was not what had subdued him and prompted Draco’s question.

In the fireplace, he had caught a glimpse of the Daily Prophet. Narcissa had cast it into the flames in a hurry when she heard the boys coming down the staircase. Before the paper crumbled, Harry had caught a glimpse of a face he knew. The face he had woken up to that morning.

The Malfoys were in the paper. Again.

And the more attention they got, the more Voldemort knew about them. And just because Harry was on holiday, it didn’t mean the Death Eaters were.

‘I know that look. What is it?’

‘Nothing important.’

What with her husband in Azkaban and the papers vilifying what remained of the family’s legacy, Narcissa was behaving more reasonably and showing more trust than anyone could have expected of a woman in her position. Her stoicism went a long way in keeping Harry from losing his mind.

In an effort to distract Harry from his mood, Draco decided to play with the dogs. There was a moment of delay back in the bedroom when he became a lot more interested in taking Harry’s clothes off than in putting them on. Despite this, they managed to be outside in under fifteen minutes, braving the frigid weather to make their way to the kennels.

This time, the dogs greeted Harry with as much adoring worship as they had greeted Draco. In particular, they greeted the ball Draco had brought.

Harry had hoped that the dogs would serve as an adequate distraction but he couldn’t keep from wondering what the papers had divulged this time. There was no telling, really, what consequences the Malfoy’s new notoriety would have. What if they became the new public enemy number one? There was so much to worry about, Harry didn’t understand how he and Draco could possibly deserve more page space than, gosh, perhaps the fact that _the Dark Lord had risen again_. It made him wonder if Voldemort had his own creepy fingers in the huge bullshit pie that was the Daily Prophet.

‘For Merlin’s sake, Harry. It’s Christmas Eve.’

Harry could see, from the corner of his eye, Sagitta butting Draco’s leg and licking his gloved hand.

‘I think she wants the ball,’ Harry said. Draco sighed to indicate that quickly changing the subject was meant to be solely his territory. He pointedly hurled the ball twenty-five yards and crossed his arms.

‘You might have made a good chaser,’ Harry commented, as Sagitta went bounding joyfully after it. Draco shrugged. ‘I might have made a good person,’ he replied blithely.

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. Disagreeing with Draco’s self-image had never worked in the past.

Cautiously, Harry tugged one of Draco’s hands free and twined their fingers together. Sagitta returned, and Hydra and Taurus decided they wanted to play too, so Harry wrangled the toy from Sagitta’s determined jaws and tossed it as far as he could. The dogs launched themselves after it.

And Draco launched himself at Harry.

 

**.NB.**

He ought to have gone back to the dungeons. It was getting dark and he wasn’t the kind of student that wandered the corridors at night. But here he was, up in the Astronomy tower, standing next to the empty space where Neville had been only hours ago.

He knew it was exactly where Neville had been, because he was standing under the mistletoe again.

It wasn’t a sentimental or a romantic thing. He wasn’t that pathetic. He just wished the situation had unfolded differently. It wasn’t as if Blaise suffered from inexperience. He’d successfully seduced many people, experimented with his parent’s friends or co-workers’ sons and daughters and protégées. He knew and accepted Neville’s temperament and limits, even if he was forced to be more forward than he’d like. He would have been subtle, but Longbottom was thick as a wall at Gringott’s.

Blaise was led to the inevitable conclusion that it was all Neville’s fault. The boy needed another chance to get it right. After all, they were knee-deep already. The least Blaise could do was make sure he got something memorable out of it.

He heard steps on the staircase behind him. So, Neville had received his message.

‘We’ll get in trouble if we’re caught up here,’ Neville said by way of greeting. Blaise turned around to face him.

‘What was it you wanted to talk about?’ Neville asked. He stopped a good few feet from where Blaise stood. He looked painfully uncomfortable.

‘I was hoping there would be less talking. Talk is boring,’ Blaise said casually.

‘Then what ...’ Neville stopped mid-sentence and glanced up at the mistletoe above Blaise’s head, before blushing madly and looking away.

‘Oh, come on. You can come a little closer,’ Blaise teased, trying to drain some of the tenseness from the air. Neville partially obeyed, shuffling a few steps forward. ‘Closer,’ Blaise said, more firmly. He would close the distance himself, but he was already putting more effort into this Gryffindor than he ever had for anyone. No matter that Neville hadmonopolized Blaise’s attention, some kind of status quo had to be maintained.

Or so Blaise kept repeating to himself. Honestly, the more Blaise had to remind himself of the rules, the more tired and irritating the rules seemed. They restrained him more than anything. Anything that stopped him from getting laid had to have a solid basis, and the solid basis behind the ambiguous laws concerning courting between Gryffindors and Slytherins was starting to appear less and less solid and more and more full of wank.

So, in half a second, Blaise changed his mind. For possibly the first time in his life, he did some reckless and unthinking. He strode forward and kissed Neville Longbottom squarely on the mouth.

In the space of a few seconds, Blaise registered that the momentum of his movement had caught Neville off-balance and they had moved a few steps in order to compensate. They were about a meter from a wall.

Blaise opened his eyes, surprised to realize that he’d closed them, and inspected Neville’s face in the dim light. To his inner delight, Neville’s cheeks were flushed. His pink lips were parted in slack-jawed shock, and his eyes were wide but darkened by an unexpected spike of desire. Satisfied with the signs, Blaise’s hands made themselves at home, one holding Neville’s chin just in case he got any ideas of shifting backwards, and one on Neville’s hip, just close enough to please, and just modest enough to claim decency.

‘Do you get it yet?’ Blaise asked in a “duh” whisper, leaning in close enough to feel Neville’s short breathing, and claimed that mouth again, this time licking a thin wet stripe over Neville’s lower lip before lightly pressing, letting Neville’s top lip enclose his own, enticing Neville to join in.

To his further delight, he felt from his hold on Neville’s hip that his legs were growing weak, and used that as an excuse to push Neville the remaining steps between them and the wall and hold him against it. Neville didn’t protest.

Blaise almost wanted to chuckle at the gesture; Neville’s hands were on his shoulders. Then the moment was suddenly ripped from his control. Neville had pushed him away.

Blaise took a moment to collect himself. Neville had _pushed_ him _away_.

And it _hurt._

Why did it hurt?

‘Don’t mess with me,’ Neville said, slightly shakily, trying to sound steady. ‘Don’t ... if you do that, don’t do it to mess with me.’

Blaise felt his shutters go down. _What other reason would I do it for?_ He wanted to ask. And then he hesitated.

What other reason? Why did he do it? He wanted to make a point, didn’t he?

Neville stood quietly, waiting for confirmation. A few seconds passed in wordless silence, the showdown of the confused.

Neville looked tired. He pushed away from the wall and made to move away. Blaise stopped him.

‘What?’ Neville snapped.

‘What do you think?’ Blaise snapped in return. ‘I try to have one non-pointless moment with you, and you have to ruin it by being sensitive.’

‘What do you mean, pointless? What, you were bored? You just wanted to do something not-boring with me?’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Longbottom,’ Blaise snapped. He shoved Neville back into the wall. ‘Serves me right for thinking you’ve got a brain. You’d think a kiss would be a pretty obvious indicator, but _nooo_. Longbottom needs it spelled out for him.’

Without giving Neville room to reply, Blaise sealed his mouth shut with a kiss. In this kiss there was more pressure than before. More dominance. It was a how-dare-you-make-me-lose-composure kiss. The kind of kiss that follows a fight between two people who can barely stand one another, and can barely stand to be apart.

And when it ended, Neville eyed Blaise with wariness. Blaise took a few steps back, and nearly stumbled. The lack of dignity in the situation was killing him. It was supposed to be easy. If a spoiled ponce like Malfoy could seduce Potter, surely Blaise should be able to bag one of his own, especially a stupid, unconfident, crying Gryffindor who could barely tie his own shoelaces.

Hang on ... _crying_?

Neville was trying to cover his face with his sleeve under the weak pretence of wiping his lips.

Fuck. Really? How was he supposed to deal with this situation? A gruesome and unfamiliar sensation of failure filled Blaise. Failure, and some regret. No, not regret. But he couldn’t bear to call it shame.

‘I have got a brain,’ Neville sniffed. ‘I _have_. I’m not stupid, and I’m not a toy. And if all you want is a roll in the hay, go find someone else. I’m done.’

And with that, sniffling and red-eyed, Neville stamped away down the stairs and out of the tower. Blaise fancied he could still hear him for five minutes after he rounded the corner.

And then, he swore he could see his face in the paintings he passed as he aimlessly trudged through the endless corridors.

He barely realized he had reached the dungeon. Neville’s voice had followed him, echoing all along the dark stone.

And as he bathed, and changed, and lay down in his large cold bed, Blaise was sure he could still feel Neville’s trembling hands clasping his shoulders.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Stuff is happening, and it resolves problems rather than starting them! Thank you to those who have patiently been following this story while i totally failed to keep my shit together and post regularly like a normal person. You are all lovely people and your comments and kudos and support has been reassuring and motivating and gah, just, you're cool. Like, so cool.
> 
> Almost at the finish line!

It was one hour to midnight. One hour till Christmas. Neville was sitting alone by the fire in the common room of Gryffindor Tower.

He hadn’t gone down to the feast. For some reason the very thought was depressing. He’d gotten dressed and put effort in, too. But he couldn’t bring himself to go and try to cheer himself up by sitting alone at a huge table full of food. The people he knew, Ron, Dean and Seamus, had gone home. Ginny and Hermione and Luna were gone. And Harry was miles and miles away with his boyfriend in a mansion.

He’d known for long enough that his feelings for Blaise ran deeper than friendship. Much deeper. Blaise had kissed him, which should have felt good. Should have, if the action was not so transparent. There was no affection in the way he enticed Neville under the mistletoe. It was performed, calculated, somehow. Whatever the hell it was, it sure wasn’t romance.

Neville morosely picked apart the scrap of parchment he’d found under the couch, and flicked bits of it into the dancing light of the fire. Alone on Christmas.

It wasn’t like it was the first time. He’d stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas before.

Rolling over on the couch to lie with his back to the fire, Neville couldn’t stop his mind from straying back. He wondered what Blaise was doing. Possibly relaying the whole hilarious scene to his Slytherin pals of tearful Longbottom, how he ran away with his tail between his legs when confronted with the aggressive sexuality of someone superior, financially, socially, culturally. _That’s right_ , Neville thought. _He’s out of my league. He’s a dirty bastard, but he’s completely out of my league_. Famous relatives. Rich family. Pureblood family. Old, rich, pureblood family. _Dirty, cruel bastard. “Neutral” my arse_ , Neville continued to sulk. Blaise would probably become a Death Eater and specializing in torturing victims by flirting with them.

He wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep, but the suddenness of having someone push his feet off the couch shocked Neville out of a reverie. He didn’t lift his head to see who it was. He knew he wouldn’t get away with it, but he hoped fiercely for a moment that he could pretend to be asleep and they’d eventually leave.

Surreptitiously, he shifted his wrist and took a peek at his watch. It was almost 2:00 in the morning. Christmas. It was Christmas.

Something rectangular and wrapped in paper landed on the dip between Neville’s hip and shoulder. It made him wriggle slightly in discomfort. He was ticklish on his sides. He had to sit up.

The sight, when he opened his eyes, made him freeze.

The thing wrapped in paper was a present. Going by the weight and feel, it was probably a book. The wrapping paper was iridescent purple and black and white like the night sky, glowing faintly with stars. A tiny corner of his mind registered that he would unwrap the present carefully so he could keep it.

The person who had dropped the present on his side was staring moodily at the fireplace, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. And he looked downright weird in the Gryffindor common room.

‘How did you get in here?’ Neville asked in a whisper. His voice was slightly husky from crying and napping. He did not want to speak any louder, as if the delicate situation might break.

‘Hexed a first-year into giving me the password,’ Blaise muttered. ‘And then threatened the painting.’

‘Lovely,’ Neville responded. He looked at the gift. ‘What’s this?’

Blaise looked as if he was trying very, very hard not to say “are you serious?”. He rubbed his forehead and glanced at Neville, then looked away as though staring into the fire was easier on his eyes.

‘It’s a gift.’

Neville looked at it. ‘Well, yeah. But, what is it?’

‘Open it.’

Neville slowly sat up, crossing his legs underneath him and turning the present over. He managed to get the paper off without tearing it too badly. He set it aside.

He stared at the book in barely restrained awe. It wasn’t vanishing in a puff of smoke. It was authentic.

And it was first-edition.

Blaise chuckled. Neville finally looked up at him. The chuckle dissipated and Blaise sank into a serious demeanour, which, despite his practised air of aloofness, seemed unfamiliar. Neville had seen his swagger, his casual fuck-the-world face. This was intent, sincere. This was not posed. And Neville found it more arresting, more engaging, than any constructed look of quiet sophistication Blaise had ever worn.

‘It took me a while to find that,’ Blaise said. ‘Money isn’t a problem, but if it isn’t what you want ...’

Neville intended to say “I’ve been looking for a cheap second-hand copy of this book for three years and it’s all I’ve ever wanted in the universe”, but all that came out was a squeak. Blaise took the interruption in his stride. He went on to explain his luck at meeting a rare book dealer at a conference of his parent’s, and how fortunate it was that the man could be contacted by owl and how Hogwarts should really update their copy.

Neville turned the book over in his hands. It was in amazing condition. First edition. Over a hundred years old. The first ever comprehensive encyclopaedia of magical _and non-magical_ flora across the world, from the obscurest root in Thailand to the common mandrake (and every known subspecies), all with detailed illustrations, hand-drawn by the author.

And he was holding it. In his hands.

‘You really ... this is for me?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s not a joke?’

‘A _jo_... Longbottom, _really_ ,’ Blaise grumbled. ‘I wouldn’t go this far just to play some elaborate prank on you. Surely you aren’t expecting it to explode in your hands.’

Neville clutched the book to his chest immediately.

Blaise stared at him for a moment, then turned down to his hands, fingers criss-crossed, still resting between his knees. ‘That’s really what you expect from me?’

The words sounded as if they came out at the expense of stinging Blaise’s throat. Neville couldn’t think what to say. He was still reeling. He looked at the book again, the precious, wonderful thing he held in his arms, and thought of who had given it to him. The memory, and the realization, hit him like a snowball to the face.

‘You were looking ... in the library! You were looking at the books in the herbology section and writing things down. You weren’t studying. You were trying to find a ...’

‘A present. For you. You’re impossible to buy for, you know. Even though you only have one interest in the world, and it’s in the ground with the earthworms.’

Neville could have sworn he felt his brain shrink from the effort. The lurch from the lonesome misery he felt before to now, to Blaise, sitting next to him in the Gryffindor common room, a place where any Slytherin would break out in hives, just to give him a Christmas present ... it was so absurd he was afraid he might explode into hysterics.

‘This ... this is the best present anyone has ever given me. This is ... this is ...’

For the second time, Neville started crying in front of Blaise Zabini. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t sad. Not at a time like this. Everything was too strange, too sudden, out of nowhere. He was happy. He was lost.

Blaise reached over and folded a loose corner of Neville’s robes over the book so his tears wouldn’t damage it. Neville covered his face with his sleeve. When Blaise managed to yank his hand away from his face, Neville saw him holding a tissue.

‘Thanks,’ he sniffled.

‘You’re welcome. And Merry Christmas, by the way. I think I forgot to say that bit.’

Neville laughed wetly and blew his nose.

The wrapping paper on the coffee table glittered in the light of the fire. On the couch, two figures sat half-facing each other, one with a book held gently open in his lap and the other absently playing with the edge of his robes and humming with his eyes closed. They didn’t need to talk. Not when they sat together in the library. Not now. The most comfortable moments had always been the silent ones, when they didn’t talk.

Of all the revolutions to belong to. Dumbledore’s Army had taught him to be stronger and given him confidence. Being an unofficial member of the young Order of the Phoenix had given him a sense of pride and purpose he’d never known. But belonging to the first generation of Gryffindor/Slytherin couples, assuming there might be more ... Neville didn’t know how to feel about that. But he didn’t feel bad. Not at all. Not anymore.

They moved to the empty boys’ dorm. They lay side-by-side on Neville’s bed, feet touching. Neville held the book like a living thing. Blaise flicked through a magazine an absent student had left on the ground near another bed, eyes barely tracking the Quidditch players flying across the pages.

A few minutes after Blaise lowered his magazine, Neville looked over and realized that his unexpected guest had fallen asleep. He debated internally what to do. Blaise looked calm and handsome, eyes closed, body relaxed and heavy in slumber. Perhaps he could let Blaise nap, even let him sleep there. But would his fellow Slytherins notice his empty bed in the morning? It might be harder for Blaise to get out of Gryffindor tower unnoticed during daylight hours. There were fewer people left in the castle now, true, but he didn’t want to risk any resentment from Blaise, not so soon.

The problem was solved for him when Blaise murmured and rolled onto his side. An arm swung around Neville’s waist and tugged until he timidly inched closer. Blaise mumbled on, and Neville heard, unmistakeably, his name.

Laying down and trying not to grin too hard, Neville settled into the arms that began to encircle and hold him. A few more hours couldn’t hurt.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the porn, you smutty bastards.

It was at least two hours until midnight. Harry was still reeling from dinner. The Malfoy’s cook really did treat food as an art form. Every dish looked like a painting of itself. Harry felt guilty demolishing the masterpiece that was his main course, and it tasted as good as it looked.

The closer it got to Christmas Day, the more he caught himself thinking of the Weasleys. Then he reminded himself of where he was, and why. He couldn’t feel sad so close to Christmas, especially not with Draco there.

Draco pulled his shirt over his head and fell backwards onto the sheets, eyes closed. Harry had sighed with relief when Draco had taken off his tie. Why anyone would wear a tie _at home_ was beyond him.

‘This must be what pregnancy feels like,’ Draco groaned, patting his belly, which did look to have increased in size by an inch or three.

They hadn’t left the dinner table together; Draco had left to quickly speak to Didier before returning after Narcissa had retired to one of the parlours, where Harry later found her. The way she had sprung up from her seat told him that she was either wrapping a present or hiding something. And then he had seen parcels, and at least two owls in the room which did not belong to the Malfoy family. Someone, he realized with wary apprehension and tiny hope, had sent presents. Someone had sent presents in cheap but presentable wrapping paper.

The packages were all arranged beneath the Christmas tree (over-large, ostentatiously decorated and with a glittering star on top), and just as Harry glimpsed the scrawled handwriting on the packages, she ushered him from the room. Not before he caught a peek at the letter she was writing back.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts again by a hand that landed on his thigh. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to guess which finger it was that was gently scratching upwards toward his hipbone. They lay in companionable silence.

‘I’m wondering whether to give you your present now, or later,’ Draco sighed.

‘What kind of present is it?’ Harry asked. Draco turned his head and grinned lecherously. Harry swatted his arm. Draco caught Harry’s hand and pulled him across the bed until they lay facing each other, legs tangled and still hanging partly over the edge of the bed.

‘I’m giving you two presents, actually,’ Draco purred, running one hand down Harry’s back. ‘That’s why I wouldn’t go all the way last night.’

‘You want our first time to be on Christmas Eve?’ Harry asked with a small grin.

‘I’m sentimental. Shut up,’ Draco replied, kissing Harry’s lips to silence the laughter before it started. But Harry didn’t want to laugh. He felt strangely touched. Here they both were. Finally about to have sex. And it was a bloody _Christmas present_.

‘Hang on,’ Harry said, pulling away from the kiss for a moment while he was still coherent. ‘ _Two_ presents?’

‘Yes,’ Draco said. He started undoing Harry’s shirt buttons, in a more haphazard way than usual. ‘Of course I’m giving you a present that involves paying for something. Something I can give you tomorrow morning with mother in the room. This,’ he said, before biting Harry’s nipple, ‘is just for us.’

Draco tackled the buckle of Harry’s pants and threw them on the floor.

‘Hang on,’ Harry said. He was surprised to hear his own voice so breathless. He half sat up and removed his glasses. ‘You’re still wearing your pants.’

Harry’s shoes and socks were abandoned on the floor and his glasses on the nightstand, as Draco took off the last of his clothing. It crossed Harry’s mind that this was the first time they had both been entirely naked in front of each other. He didn’t feel self-conscious. They were well past that. Still, the moment held some solemnity, like another boundary they had crossed together.

Draco settled atop Harry and went straight for his neck. Harry chucked. _This_ was familiar territory.

‘Your hickey ... from last night ...’ Draco said, in between licking and biting. ‘It’s already faded a little.’

‘That doesn’t mean you have to make it permanent,’ Harry gasped, trying to grab a handful of hair to pull Draco’s head back.

As they slowly writhed, tongues teasing and lips wet, Harry felt Draco’s cock push up against his own. He bucked involuntarily. Draco dove down before Harry had time to get his bearings, and without warning, Harry found his twitching cock engulfed in an impossibly warm mouth.

Harry tried to force down a moan but it came out anyway, long and low. He pushed himself up on his elbows and opened his eyes. Time seemed to slow and he was entranced.

Draco’s eyes were closed as his head bobbed up and down. His hands held Harry’s thighs, not too tightly, but not gently either. He was using his tongue to massage Harry’s dick. Harry, through the daze, recognized the way Draco would explore Harry’s mouth when they kissed. It was as if he was trying to memorize every inch of flesh with his mouth.

Harry spread his legs further and drew his knees up. Draco, appreciating the extra space, shifted his elbows and moved his right hand to the base of Harry’s cock. Harry lay back and closed his eyes and tangled his fingers in Draco’s white-blonde hair. Draco slowed down.

Harry pushed Draco’s head down gently, experimentally, and felt the back of Draco’s throat contract. He heard a faint choking sound, and immediately moved his hands away.

‘Sorry,’ he said, embarrassed at how gurgly his voice sounded.

Draco placed his own hand over Harry’s and moved it back to his head. Harry, too shy to speak, to ask, pushed down again, slow and gradual. It did not register until he felt a nose against his abdomen. He was all the way down Draco’s throat.

He started to lift his hips as he held Draco’s head in place. Teeth lightly scraped at the base of his dick. Draco carefully kept his mouth wide open. Both his hands were on Harry’s legs again, and he was gripping tighter, pulling Harry against his face. He began to groan. The vibrations shot right up Harry’s spine. He squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief and pleasure. Draco was sucking in earnest now, constricting his throat deliberately. _Swallowing_.

Their sounds of pleasure mingled in the warm air of the bedroom, one wetly muffled, the other growing more recklessly loud by the second.

Harry thrust up, pushing Draco’s head down as he did. He felt Draco’s body jolt between his legs, felt fingernails digging into his thighs and the hard suction fitfully increase. He felt hot. He felt desperate. The world compressed around him, a tongue was writhing against his shaft, licking at his base, and the groaning sounds were turning to unabashed slurps. He couldn’t control his body. His hips were snapping up, seeking more friction, more of that delicious mouth.

Harry’s moan suddenly tailed off, and he put both hands on the back of Draco’s head. He cried out. Draco choked again as Harry came, sudden and hard.

There was a long blissful moment of utter relaxation, of release, as Harry lay gasping and slowly opened his eyes. Receding stars danced in his vision. Harry lifted his head, unwilling to move the rest of his body. The sight that greeted his eyes made him melt slowly back into the pillows.

Draco’s perfect hair was sticking up. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were so dark they seemed almost black. And his lips were reddish, swollen, tongue poking out between them. At the edge of his mouth was a trace of white. The wiry muscles of his shoulders and arms showed through Draco’s pale skin as he pulled himself up to the pillows and languidly stretched, looking satisfied and smug. The pair of them lay in silence, staring at the dark canopy above the bed. Sweat cooled on skin until, wordlessly, they shuffled under the blankets and into each other’s arms.

There was something about the touch of Draco’s lips against Harry’s forehead that made him speak.

‘Can I return the favour?’

Draco chuckled. ‘It wasn’t a favour. It was part of your present.’

Harry kissed Draco’s chin. ‘Still. You could let it be part of my present to you.’

Draco lowered his head to better reach Harry’s lips, and Harry was strangely aroused to taste himself, a lingering, subtle flavour, on Draco’s tongue. ‘I can think of something better you can do with your mouth right now.’

The kiss deepened, and Draco pushed his way between Harry’s legs until their cocks were once again grinding against each other. Draco’s hands swept down Harry’s back to his arse, where one hand stayed lightly squeezing, while the other strayed to Harry’s dick again and started to rub. Despite his sensitivity, he could feel himself growing hard again.

Not wanting to be on the receiving end of all the attention, Harry reached down to touch Draco’s cock. Draco gasped and sighed into the kiss. It was slightly longer than Harry’s, straight and hard as a spear, and Harry could imagine himself choking on it the way Draco had choked on his.

Draco pulled away and scrabbled for his wand on the nightstand. Harry watched as he summoned something from under the bed. A bottle, no larger than a snitch.

‘What’s that?’

‘Lube.’

Harry bit his lip. On impulse, he reached down to touch himself as Draco emptied a few drops onto the fingertips of his right hand. Putting the bottle aside, Draco indicated to Harry to roll over.

Harry felt a tingle of anticipation. He hadn’t waited for something for so long, and had it all arrive in a heady rush, not since he was eleven and all his dreams came true in one dramatic moment on one stormy night. Sappy as it was to think of it as a dream coming true, it was. He felt complete.

Draco kissed Harry’s shoulder and knelt between his spread legs.

‘Ready?’ Draco whispered. Harry nodded.

Draco slipped his hand down between Harry’s cheeks and teased the hole with his fingertips. Harry silently thanked the gods he’d had a thorough bath before dinner. Draco took his time, all the while kissing Harry’s shoulders and the back of his neck. Then he pushed one finger in.

It hurt a little. Much as he wanted this, it was still an unaccustomed and odd sensation. He tried to relax. Something a lot bigger was coming soon, after all. Before he was ready, Draco pushed a second finger in. Harry hissed and spread his legs further. Draco sucked on the back of his neck and slowed down, but he kept on. Slow, but relentless, he pushed in deeper. Then he started to rub.

Harry started to squirm. It still hurt a little, but there was an undertone of pleasure, strange and intimate. Draco sped up, started pushing the two fingers in deeper, more erratically. He shoved a third finger in and Harry arched his back, unprepared for the stab of pleasure. Draco, with his other hand, reached underneath to pinch Harry’s nipple. Harry whined inadvertently. The three fingers were going in as deep as Draco could get them, receptive to the way Harry’s body was straining back into the rough treatment of its own accord.

After a few minutes had passed, Draco slowly pulled his three fingers out and quickly spelled them clean. Then he settled atop Harry, sliding his slick, wet cock between Harry’s cheeks.

Draco pressed open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s back. He was breathing heavily.

‘Put it in,’ Harry whispered. He could feel the desperation in the way Draco’s toes were curling up against Harry’s ankles. He could hardly imagine the self-control Draco was struggling to maintain.

At Harry’s quiet request, Draco let go of that self-control.

In one sudden strike, Draco buried the entire length of his cock inside. He pressed himself firmly up against Harry’s back as Harry’s whole body jolted, ecstatic and stunned by the sudden invasion.

For several seconds they were still, Harry trying to adjust, frazzled and dizzy with lust. Draco was panting, face pressed against the dip between Harry’s neck and shoulder, fighting the insane urge to let loose. Harry spread his legs as far apart as he could.

‘Fuck ... Harry, I need ... you’re so ... _Merlin_ , Harry ...’ Draco struggled to speak. He was already starting to move, slowly but firmly in and out, rolling his hips in small circles to try and ease the frustration.

‘Slow,’ Harry gasped. ‘Stop for a second.’

Draco stilled, his body rigid with concentration. Harry turned his head just enough to see that Draco was biting his lower lip, hard. Trying to make himself be gentle. Harry wriggled a little.

‘Maybe if we try a different position.’

They both held off temptation for long enough to sit up. Without separating, they managed to manoeuvre until Harry lay on his side, one leg up and hooked over Draco’s shoulder, other leg straddled between Draco’s thighs. At Harry’s permissive nod, Draco gave in and surged forward, burying his full length inside again. This time Harry flinched and groaned for another reason entirely.

‘I think ... oh, _fuck_ ... yeah, do that ...’

Draco gingerly slid his cock in and out of Harry’s body, watching his features contort, gaining momentum as he saw bliss take over. Harry started to pull and grasp at Draco’s knees, at any inch of skin within reach, as the gentleness began to break down against the surging desire.

‘ _Faster._ ’

It was ruthless and needy. All the sexual frustration Harry had felt weeks upon weeks ago was resurfacing. All the unresolved passion was taking over. Draco lost all sense of rhythm, heaving and thrusting deep and hard, and Harry moaned and wailed and gripped every inch of Draco’s skin he could reach from his position on his side, every ounce of consciousness taken up by the overwhelming sensation of the thick, hard rod of flesh stabbing into him over and over again.

Grabbing Harry’s cock in his right hand, gripping Harry’s leg with the other, Draco watched Harry writhe and beg. Their fucking grew increasingly frantic. Harry pushed his face into a pillow, practically crying with physical bliss. He bit down hard, hand still grasping blindly at Draco’s leg, unable to find purchase as the slamming impact of Draco’s thrusts and the sweat covering their bodies shook him loose. Harry’s orgasm hit him hard for the second time that night, spurts of white staining the sheets, just as he felt something oozy and thick fill him from the inside. Draco was coming inside him.

Draco let Harry’s leg slide from his grasp and eased down onto Harry’s back, turning him to lie face down as he did, holding him tightly until he finished. Then slowly, gently, he slid out of Harry’s exhausted, heaving body.

Harry winced as he lowered his leg. A powerful ache was still riding him, extending dully up his spine.

Draco snuggled up against Harry’s back, nudging a knee between Harry’s, and he realized how wet he was.

At that moment, for some strange reason, Harry needed to check the clock.

Reaching down to find his pants on the floor by the bed, Harry fished out his watch from his pocket. As he held the watch close enough to his face to see the time, it struck 12:00.

Harry rolled onto his side and looked at Draco, grinning sleepily.

‘Merry Christmas.’

Draco stared with heavily lidded eyes at Harry. Then he leaned in, and chastely kissed Harry’s lips.

‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

Harry wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he knew for many years later that when he did, his lover was cradling him in his arms, presents from his family and friends were under the Christmas tree, and all the evil in the world couldn’t have destroyed that night, when _just for once_ , everything felt exactly the way it should.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, here we are. Last chapter. It's been fun, folks, and you've all been wonderful and supportive :)
> 
> Lemme know if i failed to wrap something up, and i'll see about posting a bonus.

**.NB.**

Neville woke up to a sore face and an unexpected sight. A handsome young man lay beside him, resting on his elbow and pinching Neville’s nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Neville shook his head until Blaise let go. He lifted his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes, fuzzily pleased to realize that one of them had been resting on Blaise’s hip.

‘G’mornin,’ Neville said, then sat bolt upright. ‘Oh! Merry Christmas!’

Blaise chuckled.

‘Merry Christmas. Has anyone told you that you snore?’

‘Oh ... no,’ Neville said apologetically. Going from asleep to excited to mildly embarrassed, all under a minute, made him flustered.

‘You also didn’t wake me up,’ Blaise admonished. ‘I slept in. This is the first time I’ve slept in in years.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Neville said. Blaise smiled.

‘I intended to thank you for that, actually. It’s a pleasure not to wake up before six thirty for once. It was ... nice, sleeping here. You have a very comfortable body. Except for these _horrible colours_. I don’t know how you cope sleeping under such ghastly shade of yellow. When I opened my eyes I felt like I was being ambushed.’

Neville let Blaise talk as he adjusted to the morning. Waking up with anyone in his bed, let alone with Blaise, was a situation he’d never foreseen. Yet here Blaise was, reclining comfortably next to him, as if he owned the entire room.

And it was Christmas.

‘You look awfully goofy all of a sudden. What are you smiling about?’

‘It’s Christmas. And you’re here.’

Blaise was at a loss for words. Neville used it as a chance to lean forward and kiss him. He didn’t know why. It was totally impulse. He made sure to keep his mouth closed in case he had morning breath.

Blaise approved of the direction the morning was taking. His lips became pliant and encouraging and he placed his hand on the side of Neville’s neck, lazily stroking with his thumb.

‘You’re warm,’ Blaise mumbled into the kiss. He wrapped an arm around Neville’s middle and used his surprisingly strong limbs to roll Neville on top, holding tight and pushing his face into Neville’s collar. Stunned into complacency, Neville lay where he was, feeling the firmness of Blaise’s body.

‘Don’t be so stiff. And I _am_ talking about your muscles. It’s unforgivably drafty in here and I need a nice warm human blanket.’

Neville chuckled into the pillow and decided to oblige. He settled his arms to cover Blaise’s sides and let his legs fall to either side. A quick glance at the watch on his bedside table told him it was mid-morning already.

He figured he could easily spend another half an hour or so here.

 

**.HD.**

‘We need a bath,’ were the first words Harry heard on Christmas morning.

Draco was still half-laying on top of Harry, legs and arms splayed in various directions, face-down on a pillow. Judging by the way his entire body stayed completely still, it seemed to Harry like he was considerably lacking in motivation.

Harry personally didn’t feel like moving either. He felt far too comfortable where he was, and his arse was still very achy. He wondered if Narcissa would notice if he limped.

‘Should I wear the suit you bought me today, or just normal clothes?’ Harry asked. He couldn’t believe himself for asking, but the expectations were different in this house. Narcissa was tolerant, but only of some things, and Draco _had_ been raised to wear a tie indoors. Clothes to her were like body language to other people.

Harry struggled out from under Draco’s torso and managed to locate his watch. He held it up to his face to check the time.

‘Bugger!’

‘Dear Lord, yes please.’

‘No, I mean, it’s almost ten!’

‘So? I’m sleepy.’

‘The rest of the world won’t slow down because you want to sleep in.’

‘The rest of the world isn’t joining us for Christmas.’

‘Your mother is. What if she’s already waiting for us?’

‘She’s very good at criticizing my sleeping habits. I don’t suppose she mentioned who I inherited my laziness from?’

‘That’s not the point. Come on,’ Harry said, wriggling and kicking his way out of bed. He managed to get Draco’s arms and chest out from under the covers before Draco seriously decided to fight back. Harry barely had time to remember that they were both still naked before Draco trapped his arms underneath him, and throwing the sheets around his middle.

‘You’re trapping me here.’

‘Exactly.’

‘To avoid getting out of bed.’

‘That’s just about the size of it.’

‘If you have so much energy, why don’t you use it to get dressed?’

‘Look at this from my perspective. In a choice between having you naked and at my mercy, or doing something productive that leads to being clothed and unable to fuck you for the rest of the morning, which would I choose? Honestly, it’s like you don’t even know me.’

Harry sighed and feigned annoyance. Draco gently nibbled his earlobe.

‘Just let me make you come,’ Draco whispered obscenely, ‘then I’ll run us a bath. I promise.’

Draco slid his hand up Harry’s inner thigh and found his crotch, then wrapped his hand firmly around Harry’s dick. With a few quick strokes Harry was leaking. Draco was relentless and efficient.

Harry came within five minutes, panting and groaning. Draco moved his slick hand to his own cock and finished himself off with an open mouth and closed eyes.

Released from the pressure of Draco’s tight embrace, Harry tumbled weakly to the floor and managed to locate his glasses while Draco snuck back under the covers.

Ten minutes later, Harry was convinced they weren’t going to get downstairs before eleven. Draco had melodramatically dragged himself to the ensuite and began to run a bath only after Harry refused another hand job by crossing his legs and pinching any part of Draco that came too close.

At ten thirty, the bath was almost ready and Harry was considering just wiping himself down with a moist towel, but Draco would have none of it.

At ten forty five, Harry had his second orgasm of the morning.

Harry was right. They weren’t even at the top of the stairs before his watch said eleven. His fingers were still slightly pruny from the bubble bath. He had given up on thinking about clothes and thrown on a pair of new jeans Malfoy had bought and hidden in Harry’s bag (they were expensive, dark blue, and, Harry melted when he saw it; a muggle brand) and a plain shirt and jacket. Draco had dressed in his usual luxuriously expensive ensemble. He looked, in Harry’s eyes, like a prince.

They both quickly combed their hair and stole a kiss in the day’s final moment of privacy and descended the stairs toward the room where they’d arranged to spend Christmas morning.

They arrived in the doorway. Harry was about to ask Draco if he thought there was more noise coming through the door than usual. All concerns about visible limping were forgotten. His mind went completely blank.

The Christmas tree looked nothing short of magnificent, the very top scraping the high ceiling and the baubles and tinsel dancing and floating around it. Stylish decorations hung from the wall hangings and the fireplace, and the presents had accumulated overnight. But Harry only noticed those things after he noticed the guests.

‘Would you like some tarts, boys?’ Mrs Weasley said, offering a plate.

Recovering quickly from the shock, Draco straightened up and placed his hand on Harry’s lower back.

‘I have my tart right here, Mrs Weasley,’ he said calmly. ‘And I think it’s the host’s job to offer the treats to his guests. With that in mind,’ he said, taking the tray from Mrs Weasley and holding it like a waiter, ‘may I offer some refreshment?’

Mrs Weasley halted for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound caught Narcissa’s attention. She winked at Harry from across the room. He smiled back, still slightly flushed from Draco’s “tart” comment and reeling from the sight of the Weasleys in Malfoy Manor.

‘Well, you are a gentleman,’ Mrs Weasley said. ‘And thank you, I think I will.’

Harry looked around the room. Fred (or maybe George) was showing a pink feathered hat to Hermione, which looked suspiciously like one of their Headless Hats (the memory of their first demonstration made Harry feel slightly ill), and Ginny and Bill were sitting on one of the sofas stroking the expensive cushions and admiring the lavish decorations. Arthur Weasley stood by the fireplace in his best robe, holding a flute of something bubbly and having a merry discussion with George (or maybe Fred) while Percy stood by with a briefcase under his arm. Charlie nursed a glass of red wine and chatted with Narcissa.

Most of them looked as if they had pulled on their best clothes in something of a hurry. Only the twins and the girls looked unselfconscious. Ginny and Hermione had opted for comfortable elegance, while Fred and George wore their brightest, loudest robes, either in mockery or honour of the situation; it was hard to tell. It looked as if most of them had only just arrived.

Harry’s eyes finally settled on Ron, who stood awkwardly in a corner with a glass of something mango-coloured. Their eyes met. There was a split second where the room became silent for Harry, and he touched Draco’s arm.

‘I’m just going to ...’

‘It’s fine. Go,’ Draco said, nudging Harry gently in Ron’s direction.

Harry crossed the room, hugging a few people in greeting along the way. Ginny was among them, but mostly it seemed the family was quietly aware that Harry and Ron needed to talk face-to-face before either of them was going to be properly bearable.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Harry said. Friendly, but not casual enough to be exactly forgiving.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Ron replied. He seemed to have trouble looking Harry in the eyes. Harry wondered if the ball was back in his court, and if so, what he should do with it. Every passing second made him wonder if he ought to have given more thought to how he’d handle a conversation with Ron if he ever had to suffer one again.

‘Huge house,’ Ron said stiffly. ‘Nearly got lost walking down the hallway. Been here long?’

‘No,’ Harry said. Ron still looked like he was about to shrivel out of awkwardness, but he was talking. ‘Just arrived a couple of days ago.’

Ron nodded. He coughed again, then looked at the wall behind Harry’s head. Harry leaned to the left so that Ron was looking at his face.

‘It’s an alright place,’ Ron said, still as if talking to a stranger. ‘And Miz Malfoy ... she’s nice, isn’t she?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, allowing himself a little smile. ‘She’s friendlier than I expected. Did she invite you all just last night?’

Ron nodded, ears still flaming.

Bill approached. Not entirely sure, but feeling a lot better than he had when the awkward talk began, Harry shook Bill’s hand and allowed him to monopolize the conversation. Somehow, with their stunted reintroduction out of the way, closure had been more or less achieved and it was easier to stand next to each other.

Narcissa soon directed everyone’s attention to the tree and presents beneath it. Harry could see several piles, with the Weasley presents mixed in with the more artfully wrapped presents. Narcissa had gotten carried away with Draco’s gifts, but Harry guessed that was normal. Thankfully, Draco discreetly opened most of his in the background while the Weasleys made a fuss over theirs and Harry’s.

Ron had grudgingly bought sweets for Draco as well as Harry. To Harry’s surprise, he received a card from Snape, almost hostile in its plainness compared to the elegant script and fine card Draco received. From Narcissa, Mrs Weasley had a new dress (going by the way she fussed Harry guessed it was the first new dress she’d gotten in a while). Mr Weasley had a compendium of obscure “muggle artefacts” and their uses throughout history. He read parts of it out and showed pictures to people throughout the day, and Hermione and Harry were consistently astonished at the inclusions. Fred and George had, that afternoon, several owls from people concerning their business and proposals for starting a franchise (Mrs Malfoy still had some powerful friends, it seemed, at least as far as money was concerned). Bill, Charlie and Percy also had gifts relevant to their careers, and Ginny, like Fred and George, was contacted by an agent.

‘Ms Delmorales has tutored some of the most celebrated figures in duelling,’ Narcissa explained to an astonished Ginny. ‘Draco mentioned your considerable skill with hexes. It can be a profitable talent, should you consider pursuing it.’

Harry didn’t even know that there was such a thing as a professional duellist, though Ginny was visibly excited. Narcissa was right, after all; Ginny had a talent, and the pair of them probably had mentioned her aggressive skill without meaning to lead Narcissa to the conclusion.

Ron received a new broom. He was speechless. The colour of his ears and the way he stammered his thanks said enough.

Mrs Weasley seemed embarrassed when Draco unwrapped his knitted sweater. She had clearly invested time and effort in it. Harry reflexively shot Draco a “don’t-you-dare” look, but Draco had already removed his jacket and begun to put it on.

‘Does it bring out my eyes?’ he asked playfully. It was blue. Harry nodded, speechlessly impressed at Draco’s effortless grace in accepting the situation. Whatever resentment still existed between himself and Ron, apparently it didn’t extend to the rest of the Weasleys. Narcissa warmly thanked Molly.

‘I might make clothes for him,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘If I knew how. I never had the patience to learn how to knit, I’m afraid.’

Harry got his usual knitted sweater as well, as did all the Weasley children. Mrs Weasley had put extra effort into crocheting a lacy tearose-pink cardigan for Narcissa, which Narcissa wore for the rest of the day over her dress.

The exchange of gifts went on for longer than Harry was used to, but everyone in the room seemed to appreciate it.

Breakfast was served into the dining room. The long table was easier to sit at when it was lined on all sides with family, Weasleys and Malfoys and the one Potter, relaxed by the prolonged peaceful exposure to each other on neutral ground.

And Didier had outdone himself.

.

‘I’ve never a meal that was more than two courses counting dessert,’ Ginny said, slumped on a recliner in the library.

Percy had left after lunch, thanking Narcissa profusely and looking genuinely sad at having to leave. Bill had gone as well, though Charlie stuck around to chat with the adults. They were in an older corner of the library drinking wine and tea. Harry and his friends (and Draco) heard them laugh every now and again.

Draco was taking liberties with Ron’s patience, relaxing with his head in Harry’s lap on the couch. Hermione and Ron sat together on the second couch. Ginny sat on the recliner to Harry’s left, and the twins were coming and going, spending most of their time owling to Narcissa’s friends in the business world.

‘Your family works too much,’ Draco blithely commented to Ginny, or perhaps to Ron. He had thrown his arm over his eyes and sounded half-asleep.

‘Because we have to work,’ Ginny said. ‘We don’t have the luxury of inheritance.’

Harry bit his lower lip guiltily, and Ginny gave him a look as if to say “I wasn’t talking about you”.

‘Fred and George love their business,’ Hermione pointed out. ‘They aren’t focussing on it now because they have to, but because they want to.’

‘Lazy people don’t understand the idea,’ Harry said. It earned him an elbow in the belly. Ginny chuckled.

‘Can you picture me as a famous duellist?’ she asked, gesturing grandly.

‘I can,’ Hermione said.

‘Don’t encourage her,’ Ron said. ‘She’ll turn into a monster. Besides, it’s probably really dangerous.’

‘You’ll feel right at home, then,’ Draco said, poking Ginny’s side with his foot.

Harry marvelled at how, the day before, he had not dared imagine the rift between his love and his friends healing. But here they all were, in Malfoy Manor, sitting together as if it had been this way all along.

Harry knew Voldemort was still out there. He knew his godfather was still dead. He knew the war was not yet over. But one war was. It was a little one, and it could only be the beginning, but it was a problem fixed. He still had allies and he had his friends. And he had love. He had Draco.

 _Let Voldemort come when he’s ready_ , Harry thought.

They stood together, and that was all he needed.


End file.
